Suddenly You
by thisisaddicting
Summary: He was embittered and cold. She was eternally optimistic and spirited. Suddenly they met. Suddenly he laughed. Suddenly she was less optimistic. Suddenly the lines of social standing blurred. Suddenly something heartfelt happened . . . then suddenly, not?
1. Chapter 1 Heroic

Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

Troy Bolton never imagined he'll be in such a risky situation when he woke up in his lavish hotel room that morning. He only planned to escape his father's constricting, suffocating clutches by outsmarting his assigned bodyguards.

Admittedly, it was a hasty plan borne out of need to get away. But in the small convenience store where he executed his plan everything seemed to be going smoothly. It was easy to convince his bodyguards Raul and Joe, whom he had wisely befriended beforehand, to let him go in the store unguarded to buy his excuse of a pack of cigarettes and a box of condoms. It was also easy to charm the bored looking, indecently dressed female cashier with a few lewd suggestions cleverly disguised as compliments and a wad of cash to let him hide in the storage room for half an hour and to lie to mislead his bodyguards. And it was especially easy to exit from the back door of the store, cross a parking lot and jump over a low fence for his escape.

But his initially ingenious plan began to lose its momentum when an hour of walking the unfamiliar streets, the view became less appealing, less clean, less welcoming and more dreary. He couldn't be more sure he got himself lost in the slums of Albuquerque and that idea was not only frustrating, it was a little frightening as well because he had the uneasy feeling he's becoming the focus of attention by the poorly dressed and scary looking residents of the slums.

Out of disgust for the appalling area he was in and the plight he was forced to endure because of his tyrannical father, Troy continued his walk hoping to find a friendlier face among the ones he sees and ask for directions. His clothes itself did nothing to make him inconspicuous and at the moment what he wanted is to blend with the locals. This is his father's fault, he silently cursed, zipping his expensive designer jacket closed to keep himself warm from the uneasy chill and digging his cold hands deep into his pants pocket.

Troy had no _love_ for the man who sired him. The man was made of stone. He was incapable of feeling anything besides displeasure to anyone who dared or was unfortunate enough to defy his rules. His mother was the perfect example of the recipient of his displeasure.

Troy witnessed how his mother had to take a back step because Jack Bolton's work always takes precedence over anything, including family. He saw how his mother put up with being treated like a common employee paid to do his bidding. He saw how Jack Bolton paid scant attention to his wife, barely talking to her or looking at her as if he couldn't stand the sight of her but was forced to tolerate her presence because he couldn't think of a better way to be rid of her. He heard his mother's heart wrenching cries when she thought Troy had already dozed off beside her. He saw in painful clarity how the once beautiful face of Therese Bolton became haggard overtime, the effervescent glow that usually lit her gorgeous blue eyes and enlivened her smile whenever she looked at Troy snuffed out like a dying flame.

All because of Jack Bolton.

As a child, after watching Bram Stoker's Dracula movie, Troy had likened Jack to a vampire because he deduced his father is good at _sucking_ anyone—family, friends, business associates, competitors, enemies—dry. And up till now, that comparison hasn't changed.

Remembering the confrontation three days ago in the Bolton mansion in Los Angeles that was the reason why he was placed under the watchful eye of Jack Bolton thus limiting his freedom and luxuries, Troy's face became hard with ire.

"_Sit!" Jack demanded in an ominous voice as soon as Troy entered his study and refused to budge from where he stood by the counter next to the liquor cabinet where a few bottles of alcoholic drinks were waiting to be poured._

_Troy made a show of looking around the enormous study and even behind Jack while negligently opening a bottle of vodka. "Where is it?" He asked in a mildly curious but bored tone, completely unaffected by the anger shooting from his father._

"_What are you looking for?" Jack rapped, momentarily distracted from his anger by Troy's searching gaze._

_Raising expressionless blue eyes to his father, he said, "The dog." _

"_What dog?"_

"_The dog you're ordering to sit."_

_Steely grey eyes narrowed at the tall twenty year old who bore a resemblance to him during his own youth. If he weren't so angry, Jack would have allowed himself to be amused by the perfectly unreadable expression on his son's face and the stony seemliness unconsciously emanating from Troy's being—both he's certain was inherited from him—as he stands unmoved by his wrath._

_But at the moment he was furious. Furious because yesterday an important teleconference with his business partners for a merger had to be cut short as two LAPD cops came to his office in the middle of the meeting, forced his secretary to interrupt him, demanded his attention and informed him that Troy had been arrested in his apartment along with a group of other rich kids for disturbing the peace in the building and for using drugs. The other tenants in the exclusive residential building, informed the uniformed officers, called the cops to complain about the loud noise coming from Troy's apartment and when the officers responded to the call they found a scandalous party well underway, the attendants already high on their spirits and a pot session was taking place in the living room._

_The deadly calm that settled on Jack's face was the only outward reaction that the officers saw. Mistaking it for shock, the officers waited for him to get over it then speak, ask questions and rage like most parents. Only Jack wasn't like most parents. He remained calm, extremely courteous when he finally spoke to thank them, offered them a choice of drinks which they declined and sent them off with a promise that they will not be met with any resistance from him in the course of doing their jobs._

"_Do what you must." Was all he said then nodded to his stern looking secretary who materialized out of nowhere to politely show the officers out._

_As soon as the doors closed and his secretary Sefora Gibbs returned, Jack issued one instruction to the highly competent Miss Gibbs. "Send Armstrong to the precinct tomorrow at ten." Then he stormed out of his private office to the conference room that adjoined it, relying on Miss Gibbs to understand and not question—which she did—that he was letting Troy spend the night in jail and for the big shot lawyer Evan Armstrong who he keeps on retainer to post bail tomorrow at ten o'clock . . . not before. Not even a minute before the mentioned hour._

_Jack's anger, however, had been on a steady stream as soon as the meeting ended. Neither did it ebb the rest of the day and through the hours of waiting for the talk he was going to have with Troy. In fact, seeing Troy implacably calm and uncaring of his ire or the dire consequences of his irresponsible behavior made Jack reconsider his earlier tactic on how to deal with his son._

_Jack did not ask about the incident in the apartment, nor did he ask if he used drugs. Asking would only give him a chance to deny or lie to him and he has no desire to hear whatever Troy has to say. He's sick of excuses, of good for nothing reasons. He's had enough of it from Troy's mother and he's determined not to make the same mistake of being made to believe lies. Troy's pompous, arrogant, devil may care attitude and who thinks he's better than anybody in and out of his social class, he got from his mother. And it pains Jack to see stellar opportunities slip from Troy every time because he's more interested in partying, cavorting with women, unnecessary spending of money, engaging himself in senseless pursuits and doing what he damn well pleases because he knows the Bolton money will buy him out of any unpleasant situation, all out of open rebellion he had foolishly waged against him._

_He can no longer ignore the purposeful wasting of time and money and he if he has to be considered a monster for what he was about to do then so be it. He doesn't have any other heir to place his reliance on and so he has to make sure Troy will come up to the task when time requires it. He will either bend him to straighten his ways or break him to it._

"_You start college next year." Jack said to Troy's back. "In Cambridge."_

_Troy turned to face him slowly, the bottle of vodka still in his hand. If not for the brief clenching of his jaw or the icy look in his eyes, Jack would have thought his announcement fell on deaf ears. But Troy didn't ask for an explanation. He didn't question his decision to send him to Europe because he knew he relinquished his right to decide on his future when he got himself embroiled with the cops last night and the mere fact that his own father took his sweet time before sending his egotistical lawyer to bail him out of jail, somehow hinted on Troy what the outcome of their talk would be. But it doesn't mean he liked or accepted it._

"_While you're waiting to be educated," Jack continued in a cold tone. "you will comport yourself in a way that I approve. That means no more reckless, amoral social activities with any of your so called friends. You will stay here in my house, not in your apartment which as we speak is being cleared out of your things. I forbid the use of your car, your credit card, your phone—nothing! You go out only when I give you permission to do so and only with the two bodyguards the head of security handpicked for you."_

_Troy chuckled shortly but his eyes bore such cold contempt as it met Jack's gaze, though his tone remained unemotional. "You had me bailed out of jail to imprison me here."_

"_If you'd rather have the unique kind of accommodations the local precinct offers then by all means go back. I will instruct your bodyguards to bring you there." He went to his desk and began tossing papers in the open briefcase, preparing to go to work, completely impervious to the disdain in Troy's tone. When he snapped the briefcase closed, Jack straightened and said, "Another option I'm willing to give you is to accompany me to work and give yourself the chance to acquaint with the key people the company deals with and people who work for us, what they do and a chance for you to learn how things work in the company. In other words, I'm offering you a choice to be productive."_

_Troy expressed his opinion by scoffing at his suggestion but other than that he said nothing._

_The look Jack gave him was one of disappointment instead of the controlled anger that Troy had expected and what his father was known for but his next words could not be mistaken for empty threats. "I'm being more than reasonable considering your track record of transgressions, your refusal to go to college and your persistence to live your life—at my expense—whichever way you please. If those options or if my offer of a chance to reform your ways doesn't appeal to you in the least bit, then leave everything behind and find yourself a job! Let's see how you fare outside your cozy little world. And don't you dare remind me that you're my only heir . . . Ryan and Sharpay are also my heirs. I just realized last night that because you had yourself arrested, you don't care a cent of keeping a good reputation for your last name so if you are not interested in any of my offers, go ahead continue with your little rebellion and ruin your life! But next time you find yourself in a rut, don't expect me to help you."_

_The door to the study opened suddenly making them swing their gazes just as Sharpay Evans, Troy's cousin from his father's side of the family, came through, a worried expression on her face. But before she could open her mouth to speak in defense of Troy like she usually does, Jack's irate voice cut through the short pause and turned to Troy again. "Don't expect Ryan or Sharpay to help you either!" His angry gaze flicked toward Sharpay who froze in her tracks. "Am I understood?" Recognizing the warning in her uncle's words, Sharpay wisely nodded at the man who was also her and her twin brother's guardian since their parents died three years ago, then she threw an apologetic glance at Troy. _

_Satisfied that his niece understood, Jack leveled his gaze back to Troy. "So," He drawled. "Have you decided?"_

_Troy shot him a look of pure hatred, but he sounded incredibly calm when he said, "I'll think about it."_

"_Now you want to think!" Jack thundered in a derisive tone. Moving from behind his desk, briefcase in hand, he walked past Sharpay then swung back at Troy before opening the door. "Your behavior thus far suggests making hasty decisions is your ' thing'. You never take time think, otherwise you'd be attending a college of your choice instead of getting bailed out of jail and we wouldn't be here discussing your future, won't we? One more hastiness shouldn't make a damned difference. I want to hear your decision now!"_

"_Fine." Troy clipped vaguely. He slammed the bottle of vodka down and pushed away from the counter, walked past Sharpay but not before placing a brotherly kiss to her pale cheek and murmuring reassurances, then he stalked past his father then through the door. Troy took small pleasure in walking slowly, pausing in the immense foyer, to make Jack wonder whether he was going up the staircase or to the waiting limo that was taking Jack to the office._

He doesn't know what possessed him to decide to join Jack to work instead of confining himself in the mansion and avoid further encounters with his father. But what he initially thought had been a wrong decision turned out to be a good one too, regardless that he had to endure hours in his father's domineering presence, because he got to experience firsthand what goes on in the family owned corporation.

He took wary interest in the intricate business dealings that were being handled everyday by competent, reliable employees and by his father himself. And after a week of accompanying Jack to work, Troy reluctantly recognized Jack's business acumen. He was also surprised to learn that most of the people who work for his father, especially those directly under him, hold Jack Bolton in such high esteem and their loyalty to his father is remarkable. It was the kind of respect and loyalty people give someone because they deserved it.

Still, the resentment Troy feels for his father was already deeply rooted and it overshadowed any approbation he might have felt. He wouldn't allow himself to be fully be impressed by his father's knowledge of business economics and all things related to it. He rationalized that the people under his father's employ don't know him the way he does. What they see of Jack Bolton is an illusion. He may be a good businessman but he is a terrible person, a lousy husband and an even lousier parent. Underneath all that authority and greatness for which he's admired, they have absolutely no idea what kind of a monster he really is.

So long as Troy kept his opinions to himself and ignored most of the glowing praises of his father from random people, the days spent in Bolton Consolidated Industries was tolerable and yes, as much as he hated to admit, educational as well.

But his mildly improving mood was dampened after two weeks when Jack baldly announced that he was flying to Albuquerque on business and since Troy chose the second option of his punishment, it was imperative he tag along.

In Albuquerque, after two days of being snapped at, made to endure endless hours of boring meetings and being bossed around for coffee runs and every other incongruous thing his father can think of, Troy had enough and demanded for a break from the stifling confines of the meager Albuquerque office to explore the area and see what it had to offer since it was his first time to be there. Jack agreed, surprisingly without argument, on the condition that Troy is accompanied by the bodyguards at all times.

Too bad for Raul and Joe, however, because Troy was certain they will experience the full wrath of his father when he discovers they were lax in their duties of guarding his errant son. At the moment though, he doesn't have time to feel guilty about his bodyguards because the earlier excitement and triumph he felt for escaping them looks like is all for naught.

He's lost. And in a neighborhood that not's exactly ideal for someone dressed like him.

He should've thought his plan through the very end where he at least ends up in less dangerous looking surroundings.

"Hey, got a light?"

Troy turned to the sound of the voice behind him, frowned and rudely dismissed the shabby man who walked too close—much too close to him. "No." He snapped then quickened his steps.

* * * * * *

"Does Peter Pan have curly hair?"

Kelsi Nielsen raised laughing eyes from the music sheets she was going over to take an appraising gaze at her friend Gabriella Montez who was garbed in full Peter Pan costume—green hat with a single red feather stuck on the side, green oversized shirt with paper leaves on its sleeve and a jagged hemline, brown strip of cloth tied around the waist as a belt and a wooden sword hanging from it, dark green leggings and brown low cut elf shaped boots—and looking like a young boy, a very disconcerted young boy from the look on her face.

"Well?" Arched brows lifted at Kelsi across the small music room from the piano where she was seated and Gabriella blew a curly lock of hair that fell over her left eye then repeated, "Does Peter Pan have curly hair? Because my hair is short, curly and unruly . . . this hat can't possibly tuck it in."

"Don't worry about the hair, Gab. It doesn't matter what kind Peter Pan has. You're playing the part because you're exceptionally good—"

"—acting like a boy in tights swinging in the air with a wooden sword." Gabriella finished with cheerfulness, pulling off the silly hat on her head and sat beside Kelsi by the piano.

"Do you want to back out?" Kelsi asked as she casually flipped through the music sheets in front of her but inwardly she hoped Gabriella wouldn't consider stepping out of the play. She may be a girl playing a boy but of all the students they auditioned, Gabriella was the only one to convincingly pull off the role and her singing voice is amazing.

Gabriella let her fingers glide over the piano keys, playing a tune she spontaneously made up, her head bobbing to the sprightly sound then laughing at her own silliness. "No." She said, smiling brightly. "I want to play the part. I actually enjoy being strapped with a harness and get to swing all over the stage . . . don't tell Darbus though. She's convinced I share her burning passion for theatrics."

Laughing, Kelsi raised a hand in promise not to betray her secret to the unflappable drama teacher Miss Darbus. "I won't." She assured. "Just promise me you won't change your mind about this, Gab. I don't want that Brian Moon to play Peter Pan—he's an annoying ass and he thinks he's better than everybody. He keeps criticizing and changing my arrangement to suit his mediocre voice!"

"Don't worry, Kels. Unless, something life altering happens to me in the next twenty four hours, I will be Peter Pan." Gabriella said with certainty and started to stand but a sudden thought occurred to her that made her sit back down. "Wait . . . do I really have to kiss Lila?" She sounded all at once alarmed, appalled and worried of the possibility of kissing the other female student who plays Wendy. "She's pretty but even if I look like a boy, girls don't really appeal to me in that way, and that bloke head boyfriend of hers will kill me when he sees it and not only that—the entire population of this school will go nuts over it."

"It's only a minute long kiss—"

"Kelsi!"

Kelsi laughed at Gabriella's horrified expression but hurried to assure her. "I'm kidding! The kissing can be faked. The lights can do the trick or we'll ask Miss Darbus to suggest something else since she's the one who altered it."

Accepting that explanation with a brief nod, Gabriella shifted to another curious question. "Why did you choose Peter Pan over Romeo and Juliet? A love story is much easier to do than swashbuckling, flying heroes and pirates. Besides, it's so much more glamorous—" She looked down at her drab green costume and held up the green hat with a funny expression on her face. "than this."

Kelsi shrugged her thin shoulders, pushed her glasses up her small nose and said, "I like a challenge."

Brown almond shaped eyes gave Kelsi an unconvinced gaze and at the same time pressing her to say the real reason why a romantic girl like her would choose Peter Pan over a love tragedy Shakespearean play.

Sighing after a moment of hesitation, Kelsi admitted ruefully. "If I chose Romeo and Juliet, I'd have wanted you to play the lead. You would've been perfect for the role."

"Of Romeo?"

"No! Of Juliet . . . but I didn't think I could convince you to audition for the part."

Unexpectedly, Gabriella laughed at that. "That's true." She agreed. "You couldn't even bribe me to play Juliet. But how can you think I'd be _perfect_ for Juliet! She's supposed to be gorgeous. I'm nowhere near that. Everyone is aware that I am a girl trapped in a boy's body. Besides, can you imagine how Chad and Jason will be laughing their heads off if they see me in a gown?" She shook her head still laughing despite the fact that her words ridiculed her own person. "Not only that—you'll have a hard time finding someone to play Romeo when they see a plain looking Juliet. The chemistry won't work either."

"That's not true, Gabs, and you know it. Besides who cares what Chad and Jason think. Those two won't know art and beauty even if it smacks them right in the face." Kelsi retorted, her displeasure of Gabriella's brothers evident in her tone and mildly irritated that Gabriella has resigned herself into thinking she doesn't hold any promise of feminine beauty—dressing herself in oversized, unflattering set of clothes that hides the shape of her slim body and make her look like a boy—when Kelsi, their friends and most of the teachers in East High have a glowing opinion of Gabriella and are all under the consensus that she's simply a late bloomer compared to other eighteen year old girls their age.

Her friend is actually quite popular in school. But her popularity is for much more meaningful reasons than beauty or money—for Gabriella is hardly from a rich family and though she is by no means ugly, she's not an acclaimed beauty either. Her popularity owes itself to the fact that Gabriella is not only academically gifted and excels in almost anything she puts her mind to but she also has an amazing ability to blend in with any crowd.

She is "in" on the nerds because she's inherently intelligent and she can be geeky without actually being one when a situation calls for it. Her tomboyish ways, interest in sports and physical agility makes her "cool" to the jocks—although this in part is also because of Chad and Jason. Nevertheless, her chumminess with the jocks automatically makes her a person of importance to the beauteous cheerleaders and to the other _beauties_ of East High because—incidental or not and ridiculous it may seem—Gabriella's opinion about a girl happens to hold great weight to the lot of jocks who wouldn't date any girl without her stamp of approval. And to the rest of the school's population, Gabriella Montez is a breath of fresh air, a friendly face, a helpful schoolmate, a kind person with a generous spirit that glows from inside out making her pretty in their eyes.

The problem, as Kelsi sees it, is that Gabriella lives in a small apartment with her aunt, Lucille Smarth—a social worker and the person who her father entrusted her to when she was ten while Mr. Montez served time in prison—along with Chad and Jason, Lucille's adopted sons, who love Gabriella dearly but are the most obnoxious kind of brothers there is and seems to have fostered this stupid notion in Gabriella that she's better off being 'one of the guys'.

"They're guys with purely guy interests." Gabriella explained but she understood Kelsi's dislike for her brothers. Chad and Jason are the typical annoying brothers who teased mercilessly, insisted on their superiority and dislikes any display of girly behavior in their presence—that's why they feel it necessary to let Gabriella learn their ways, appreciate their love for sports and be able to play it with them and hold her own.

And they weren't exactly subtle two years ago when they baldly told Kelsi musicals are for sissies or something along that line which the temperamental artist in her friend detested hearing from two people who don't have a stitch of knowledge about theater arts or musicals.

"And they treat you like you're the same gender as them. Honestly, Gab, do you remember the last time you wore a skirt? Do you even have a skirt in your closet? Those two ruffians make you act like a tomboy. You didn't even let your hair grow long anymore. They wouldn't even let you date!"

Gabriella smiled and answered without rancor. "That's because no one asks me out." Feelings between her brothers and her closest friend run along a mutual hate road and have been on same road for years now. In fact, Kelsi bickers more with Chad and Jason than Gabriella does, that seeing them at each other's throat became a normal occurrence already. She learned long ago that it was wiser not to get caught in the middle and just let things pan out on its own course when their trivial disputes arise.

And to spare herself from Kelsi's endless complaints about her brothers, Gabriella arose and looked to the watch hanging on the wall across from them. "I better head home." She said beginning to excuse herself. "Jason invited a girl over and Aunt Lucille doesn't want them alone in the apartment. She told me to hurry home as soon as I can and I'm already late. I don't want to barge in on Jason and his date in a—compromising position. I'll be scarred for life."

"He has a date?" Kelsi asked and if Gabriella wasn't occupied with searching for her backpack, she'd have noted the odd tone of the question and the sudden frown that darkened Kelsi's features.

"Yep. I think he's into this girl too. Keeps talking about her to Chad . . . name's Erin, I think." Gabriella absently informed, as she walked around the small room to find her pack. She looked over her shoulder to Kelsi and asked. "Have you seen my bag?"

It took awhile for Kelsi to answer and even then she sounded uncomfortable which confused Gabriella a bit. "Kels? You okay?"

"Uh, yeah!—didn't you leave it in the locker room? You changed into that costume there, played basketball with Wesley and went on stage to practice your lines with Miss Darbus. You told me that earlier when I asked."

Her face scrunched up, smacked a palm to her forehead and raced out of the music room bidding a hasty goodbye and grumbling about the gym being locked at this hour but still hoping to press her luck and get her things.

Thirty minutes later and the sky already dim, having failed to get her pack and change into her normal clothes, Gabriella was walking home in her Peter Pan costume, the wooden sword lightly hitting the side of her left thigh as she took each step, feeling increasingly ridiculous with each passing minute as she saw more and more eyes looking funnily at her and she even heard one boldly call out, "What? No fairy dust to make you fly?" To which, she was prompted to shout back out of irritation, "Happy thoughts make you fly, doofus!"

She was thankful when she rounded the corner two blocks away from her aunt's apartment and saw no one on the streets. Untying the belt with the sword from around her waist because her thigh was now stinging a bit from the wood slapping against it, she slowed her walk to a stop under a street lamp for better lighting. The belt was tied in an impossible knot by Martha who was in charge of costumes.

Grumbling, Gabriella bent her head further down as she went about to untangle the knot. So concentrated was she on untying the brown strip of cloth that when a sudden shuffling echoed from the dark alley close to where she stood, Gabriella nearly jumped out of her costume just as the belt came undone and loosened the green shirt she wore.

The strange shuffling sound was heard again and again just when she decided not pay it any mind. Curiosity coupled with a slight sense of warning pushed her feet to cautiously move toward the unlit alley. She pressed her back against the wall as she neared and she could hear some garbled words and more shuffling, like people struggling against another. Inching along the wall perpendicular to the alley as stealthily as she could, Gabriella ignored the warning bells of danger clamoring in her head.

She took a careful peek at the edge of the wall into the dark alley, intending only to satisfy her curiosity and leave, but what she saw made her gasp in shock and her heart rate triple— so close to where she hid herself, two dark figures where marauding a lone man, one was restraining him from behind while the other threw punches at him then he stopped long enough to pull a gleaming knife from inside his jacket with every intention of using it on the helpless stranger.

In her stunned, horrified state, she realized she's about to witness a mugging become a murder. Gabriella's fingers slackened unconsciously and the wooden sword she held in one hand fell with a resounding thud on the ground diverting the attention of the two muggers to her. Frightened but alert, Gabriella knew she'd been exposed and one of them was making a leap for her. Vaguely hearing a warning shout from the victim of the two muggers, Gabriella screamed, ducked quickly, grabbed her wooden sword and blindly thrust it forward.

She heard a groan and when she opened one eye, she saw her would be attacker on the ground in front of her clutching at his midsection. The wooden sword did not pierce his flesh but it definitely did damage to cause him enough pain and taking advantage of the surprising luck, Gabriella straightened and repeatedly hit the man with the sword until she knocked him unconscious.

Heaving from exertion and adrenaline pumping through her bloodstream, she turned to the two other men who were in a furious wrestle for the knife. Without a thought for her safety, she sprung from her spot to aid the stranger, raised the sword but as she neared the two bodies the long belt still tied to the sword caught her booted foot and she went flying toward the parrying pair.

From the corner of his eye, Troy saw the boy with what appears to be a sword in his hand catapult toward them. Using the distraction and confusion brought on by the boy, Troy sidestepped quickly and let the boy land on the startled mugger, upsetting his balance and making him drop to the ground from the unexpected weight.

"What the—" the mugger grunted, pushing the boy's body off him, quickly got up, slashed the knife at him and kicked his side. He would have done it again but Troy snapped his head backward with a vicious punch to the jaw and another that he staggered his balance.

Able to subdue and take possession of the knife a minute later, Troy jabbed his knee on the mugger's back as he lay face down on the ground and pressed the gleaming knife to his throat. Gabriella struggled to get up from the pain on her side and the stinging of her flesh from the slash of the knife but in her half conscious state she was able to breathe a sigh of relief when she saw the stranger she helped bending over the mugger's body, saying something to the mugger she couldn't hear.

Then, the stranger turned to Gabriella after knocking the mugger's head hard on the ground to pass him out, took his wallet back and made quick work of tying the unconscious muggers with the long strip of cloth he untangled from the sword. Troy held her by the arm and pulled her upright. "Let me use your phone. We have to call the cops." His tone was brusque, his concern at the moment on informing the police about the two muggers.

Gabriella blinked several times before what he said registered on her befuddled brain. "I—I don't have a phone."

Cursing, Troy ran a hand through his hair remembering that he was in the slums and of course, certain necessities like a mobile phone are not common in these parts for they can't afford it. And he doesn't have a phone either even if he can afford to have several because his father rescinded that privilege. He grabbed the boy again after tossing the knife in the pile of trash far from the unconscious muggers and got out of the dark alley into the lighted street.

He turned to the boy, about to ask him the location of the nearest precinct but as his sights beheld him and his clothes, Troy frowned in bewilderment and asked an entirely different question. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Swaying slightly, trying to stop her knees from buckling and still trying to recover from her earlier fright, Gabriella absentmindedly replied, "I'm Peter Pan."

Shaking his head at the absurdity of that reply, Troy refocused his thought on the matter at hand and at the same time he noticed that the teenage boy who unwittingly saved his life looked stricken and pale obviously still trying to recover from what happened in the alley.

Then he saw blood seeping through the green shirt where it had been slashed and his intent to express gratitude became a shout of alarmed concern. "Didn't your parents teach you to turn your head away from danger instead of charging into it?!" Troy automatically reached out to lift the shirt to better see her wound, mentally hoping that it was but a shallow cut and not life threatening. "And I could've handled that thug without your help—what the hell were you thinking?!"

With her senses spinning and her upper body in pain, Gabriella's temper surged at the harsh tone and anger that she felt was not her due. "I'm thinking I don't want to see anyone die." She shouted back, slapped his hands away and took a wobbly step out of his reach. "Didn't your parents teach you to say thank you when someone saves your life?"

"I don't want to endanger anyone's life to save my own ass!" He clamored, then as if he realized what he was doing, he took a deep breath to calm himself and he reached for the shirt again. "Let me see your wound." He insisted in a reasonable tone that also made it clear he didn't want any argument.

"I can't just pretend I didn't see you being punched by two men and then about to be stabbed too! My conscience won't let me do that—stop pulling my shirt!" Gabriella struggled against him, frantically tugging back her Peter Pan shirt in anger that he's persistently trying to strip it off her. "It's a minor cut. It stings but my gut won't spill out of it!"

"You should listen to your common sense next time—or is that not common to you?" Troy ignored her resistance, unwilling to be deterred from his intent of having a good look at the wound to appease his worry for the boy. He had to at least provide some first aid to the cut to keep it from bleeding and the only way for him to do that is for the boy to stop slapping his hand and squirming away from him and let him rid of the heavy green shirt laden with several paper leaves. "I have to bind your wound first . . . it's bleeding!"

Gabriella had the awful feeling that the man was either stupid to think of disrobing her out on the street or his concern for her being is bordering on excessive because of what happened in the alley. Whatever his reason, she kept her struggling and talking to distract him. "You know when someone saves you from danger it's only right and much easier to thank them rather than lecture them about their uncommon common sense." She was becoming dizzy and weak and the pain on her side increasing and a faint warning of danger pushed into her mind about the stranger. Maybe he's also as bad as the two muggers . . . perhaps he's not a mugger but a rapist! "Help! Help! He's taking my clothes off!"

"Shut up!" Troy snapped, losing his patience at the stupid boy in the absurd costume. He grasped the boy's arm a little roughly, subduing his kicking and screaming then pulled at the shirt by the collar and in the next second a tearing sound was heard and the silly shirt was torn practically in half all the way down the jagged hemline, the paper leaves attached to it floating down the pavement.

Gabriella gasped frightfully, thinking the worst possibilities to happen to her.

Troy froze and his eyes grew wide. "You're wearing a bra?" He asked in a startled whisper.

Gabriella pushed him back, hastily gathered the torn side of the shirt to cover her exposed chest, and burst out, "Girls wear them!"

Troy staggered back from her shove but maintained his footing as he gaped incredulously at the boy who's actually a girl. "You have breasts!"

His obvious shock over her gender diffused Gabriella's fear of him and instead fortified her fury. She felt unduly insulted—first, for not being thanked by the arrogant man for saving his life and now for mistaking her for a boy. "Girls have them!" She spat. "And I—am a girl!"

* * * * * *

_**Author's Note:** I blame this sudden posting of new fic on Mulan. Yes, the Disney movie Mulan. Love the movie. Watched it several times years ago but after seeing it again two days past, the scene where she was found out to be a girl bugged me for some reason and my imagination wouldn't let me leave it alone so here's this. And no, as you've read, this isn't similar to Mulan's story. And I must be crazy to challenge the time on my hands by putting this out but it's already here so we'll see..._

_Thank you to my wonderful readers!_


	2. Chapter 2 Favors

Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

Within minutes of setting foot in the local hospital carrying his _girl_ savior in his arms and having her whisked away by bustling hospital staff while firing questions at him about what happened, Troy very quickly concluded that the emergency room is not for the weak hearted . . . or the weak stomached.

As soon as he relinquished the girl in his arms to the impatient personnel in a scrub suit, he turned away to wait and finally noticed his surroundings. Then he stopped dead on his tracks. The images he saw and smelled quickly assailed his senses to make him wince inwardly and his stomach feel queasy. The shock of the chaos around him bothered him to a point of confusion that when a stretcher bearing a bloodied man who lay rigidly pale and barely breathing whizzed past him as he was hurrying to head out, Troy was almost certain he was going to retched right where he stood.

Then when he jumped back to avoid the _rush_ of injured people pouring in and out of the wide swinging doors, thinking how excessively dangerous this area of Albuquerque must be for that many people to be scuttled into emergency care, he bumped into a woman with a heavily swollen belly that in his disorient failed to recognize she was actually pregnant instead of suffering a rare kind of stomach disease—which he surmised is what caused her belly to bloat that big; he was almost afraid she would burst into pieces before his eyes.

Troy excused himself to the woman while she threw him a furious glare then in the next breath her face abruptly contorted as if from extreme discomfort and sooner than Troy could think what to make of that, he heard a low whooshing sound just before water coming from between her legs spilled to the floor and onto his shoes.

Troy stood immobilized, unable to curse in righteous anger much as he wanted to, almost afraid to lower his gaze to see his shoes, his mind denying what he thought just happened and reversing his assumption of the woman's condition from 'rare kind of belly disease' to 'pregnant and about to pop any second', then he willed himself to look from the panicked woman's face to his sodden shoes in wide eyed disbelief and that was before the pregnant woman screamed, "My water broke!"

Immediately snapping out of his stupefaction, Troy dashed out from his spot suddenly desperate for a fresher air to breathe and once he was standing next to a tree several paces from the emergency room, he braced both hands against it and took eager gulps of the cool night air. Blessedly, minutes later, he managed to gather his wits about and calm his strained nerves.

He stared at his classic slip on Vans shoes in acute disgust. The wetness didn't seep through the material—and he hoped it won't—but he wanted nothing more than to rid his feet of it and put on a new one. But since none of that is viable because he will not walk about barefooted on these dirty streets and he doesn't have any other shoes to put on or buy from around here, he'll have to contend with the unpleasantness of his shoe problem at the moment.

Finally composed after bargaining another ten minutes to keep his irritation at bay, and able to temporarily push aside the disgusting thought of some pregnant woman's water absorbed into his shoes, he located a pay phone and made a call to the local precinct to report the mugging and after answering several more questions to the lady cop who answered his call, assuring her he would drop by the station with the girl who saved him as soon as the hospital discharges her, he went back in the emergency room and found a vacant seat at the designated waiting area.

He has every intention of waiting on the girl he'd mistaken for a boy—not just to make her accompany him to the precinct but also to make certain she's all right. Not even a pregnant woman's water or the black toothed man seated next to him incessantly chattering and bugging him to have coffee can deter him from leaving his savior there.

His impatient and annoyed gaze wandered the expanse of the stark white area noting the rushed noise of people coming to and fro the wide swinging door, intermingled voices punctuated by shouts, loud crying or various sounds to express pain, the constant whirring or beeping of whatever medical equipment was being used and the jarring whine of the ambulance sirens outside. There were several beds in the room separated by dull looking drapes suspended from metal rungs. Most of the beds are occupied by patients and placid faced medical staff attending to each of them, stethoscopes hanging from their necks and clipboards in their hands to jot down pertinent information regarding the patient.

Troy carefully avoided looking at any patient or the people seated next to him on both sides. He doesn't want to converse with anyone of them. He merely sat there observing everything in a detached manner, hoping his savior wouldn't take too long to be discharged, since he already felt annoyed and ill at ease with everything. It isn't any wonder though because in the entire twenty years of his life, this is the first time he's ever stepped inside an emergency room and an emergency room of a public hospital at that.

His personal encounter with a doctor is usually with Dr. Matthews, the Bolton family doctor, who come to the Bolton mansion to check them up or they go to his austere but spacious private clinic which was artfully designed in a way that the waiting area would look like an opulent drawing room. He had grown up believing and knowing as well, that doctors wait on their patients not the other way around which obviously isn't the case here because, he realized, with the number of would be patients arriving, the hospital is very short staffed.

Troy had been hospitalized once too for a ruptured appendix but even then, the entire wing of the hospital was closed off to others for the duration of his confinement there and he was waited on hand and foot by the hospital staff as per his father's booming instructions.

He knew things are _different_ with the less privileged, but mere knowledge of it compared to actually seeing those differences firsthand like he is now, is an altogether awakening experience for him. For once in his life, in the space of mere minutes, he was surprised to recognize and actually feel thankful for the things he normally doesn't pay heed to because since birth it's always been there at his disposal. How fortunate he is compared to these people.

Pulling his mind away from the awe of his realization brought on by the current surroundings, Troy switched back to his little savior. The girl was an interesting thought, he mused. Had she been from the same social class as him, she wouldn't have been walking the streets in that silly green costume of hers. Sharpay, his lovely, elegant, gently reared cousin, would be caught dead before she even considers wearing those. The other females within his social circle will most likely choose to go about naked rather than wear that drab clothing. But then neither of them—except maybe Sharpay, although he's not entirely sure—would have gone the lengths his savior went through to try and save him from being stabbed and at the same time unwittingly aid him in overwhelming those muggers.

She's a brave one, he'll give her that . . . and also stupid for having no sense of safety for her own person. But that doesn't lessen anything of her daring deed in the alley; neither does it change the fact that Troy owes her his life tonight and he had repaid her by shouting at her and insulted her further by assuming she's a boy.

_Girls have them!_ She had said when he commented on her having breasts. _And I—am a girl._ Troy couldn't help the unconscious smile that lifted the corners of his lips as he recalled how she angrily insisted and stressed her gender to him. In his defense though, the lighting was poor, she was wearing a costume complete with _sword_ that should be worn by a boy and he was completely alarmed when he saw she was bleeding.

He doesn't know what her name is or how old she is and he didn't think to ask earlier either because he was worried foremost by her bleeding flesh and the pain on her side where one of the muggers kicked her. But if he has to hazard a guess based on her small stature and small . . . breasts, she's probably around 15 or 16 years of age.

A teenager. A teenager with a temper and a sharp tongue when insulted. But one who ignored danger and risked herself to help him.

"Coffee?" The man seated on his right said, intruding into his thoughts again and promptly a steaming paper cup was slid under Troy's nose.

Instantly, Troy recoiled from the hot cup and shook his head, frowning darkly at the pesky stranger who has been offering him coffee despite his repeated refusal. "I said no." Troy bit out not bothering to conceal the curtness in his tone.

The man shrugged, not in the least bit slighted, then turned his back to Troy and struck a conversation with the stranger on his other side. Troy crossed his arms over his chest and deliberately shut out the conversations swirling around him. He was getting impatient, waiting has never been a strong point of his but he was willing to make an exception for this slip of a girl.

Thankfully, after twenty minutes or so, one of the scrub suited personnel with the clipboard and a bland expression on her face approached the waiting area and raised her voice to address them in general. "For Montez . . ." She looked into the clipboard. "Gabriella Montez." She repeated then when no one responded to the name, she displayed a hint of annoyance for the silence and added impatiently, "The girl with the leafy green shirt—"

Troy abruptly stood. "I'm with her."

She gave Troy a quick once over and tipped her head in the direction of the beds. "This way." She led him forward. "In there." She nodded to a closed curtain and imparted in a toneless voice, "She'll be fine." With that, she left flipping through her clipboard.

Troy slipped through the curtains with a bit of unwanted trepidation, suddenly unsure what to do now that he was finally going to talk to his savior without her screaming and kicking to get away from him like earlier when he had no choice but to carry her out of the street, make her concede to have her injuries checked by a doctor and wring from her directions to this hospital. She was seated on the bed, her legs dangling on the side, a hospital gown served as her new shirt over the green tights—the torn leafy one lying on the edge of the bed—and her head was bent low as she lifted the starched white hospital gown to examine the gauze binding just below her chest.

He walked closer to the bed alerting her of his presence but she did not look up, her attention diligent on the binding of her wound and the ugly purple bruise on her side. Troy winced at the bruise, feeling all the more guilty for it but he cleared his throat and asked, "How are you feeling, Miss Montez?"

Gabriella's head jerked up at the formality of his tone and her name. And as soon as their eyes met, Troy found himself staring dumbfounded into a glorious pair of almond shaped liquid brown eyes, fringed with incredibly long, sooty lashes that it was almost absurd to believe what he's seeing is real. He was taken aback and unwillingly mesmerized by the startling innocence in their brown depths as she curiously studied him, that it took a moment to recover from his shock and instead of repeating his question, he asked another one that he suddenly felt was important he know.

"How old are you?" Troy inquired.

Surprised by the question and the demanding tone in the way he asked, Gabriella answered hesitantly, "Eighteen."

His face registered some shock, Gabriella noted, as if he's finding it hard to believe she's almost out of her teens. But he recovered quickly, nodded at her, cleared his throat again and repeated his first question, "How are you feeling?"

"Achy." She quipped, an uneasy smile on her lips as she fixed the hospital gown to cover her torso. "But it's nothing serious. According to the doctor, I'll live."

Troy chuckled softly, thinking he was probably too shaken by his encounter with the muggers than he realized to have mistaken her for a boy earlier. Her hair is short like a boy's and the costume she was wearing hid her frame, but her gorgeous eyes which is the first thing one notices of her face and her elegantly shaped lips could only belong to a female and her speaking voice sounded quite feminine and nice as well that it would be ridiculous and off to hear it coming from a guy's mouth. "That's good to hear."

"I thought you left already."

It was a simple statement but Troy sensed the underlying surprise and relief in them, he knew were for reasons that had to do with what happened earlier. "I didn't." He said evenly.

"Did you have your bruises checked?"

He shook his head and would have left it at that but her eyes were fixed on his face with a searching look of concern that for a brief moment Troy felt uncomfortable to be the recipient of her soft gaze. "I don't like strangers touching me." He elucidated.

She smiled at him like she understood his reason perfectly, then shifted uneasily on the bed as if trying to gain some courage for what she was about to say. "I have a favor to ask . . ." Her voice was soft, shy, entreating. "if it's okay with you."

"What is it?" Troy urged, already knowing what she intended to say—monetary consideration for saving his life.

"Could you—" She hesitated, bit her lip, carefully considering her words. "Could you pay for my charges here?"She paused expectantly to see his reaction and when seconds ticked by he didn't say anything but kept staring at her like she just transformed into another being before his very eyes, Gabriella hurried to explain. "I don't have money with me because I left my backpack in school which is also why I wasn't able to change into my own clothes. I was practicing for the school's musical . . ." She realized she was rambling, abruptly stopped, took a breath and quickly threw in an assurance. "I'll pay you back . . . you'll have to come with me to my place though so I can get money to pay—"

"Don't worry." Troy interrupted, surprised by her distress on the simple favor. He was expecting her to demand excessively from him, apart from the money, for saving his life. He wouldn't have argued or haggled had she demanded righteously. But she only asked for a favor and even assured to pay him back, reinforcing his earlier impression of how naïve and guileless she really is. "I'll take care of it." He reassured her, gentling his tone while his guilt compounded. "You don't have to pay me either. I owe you a great deal more than paying for your hospital bill."

She accepted that with a gracious and relieved smile that enlivened her face. "Thank you."

"I also have a favor to ask of you after I settle your dues here."

"We're going to the police station." She stated without needing to ask.

"Yes." Troy nodded, pulling his wallet from inside his jacket and then eyeing the starched clothing she wore with a critical frown. "Will you be allowed to leave here in that—that drafty hospital gown? If not, is there someone here who can sew that green shirt?"

Gabriella gaped at him, an expression torn between comical amazement and disbelief playing on her face. After a long pause wherein she realized he's in fact serious with his questions, she said in a strangled voice, "I—I'll ask around."

Troy mistook her choked tone to mean she doesn't have a choice but to wear the torn shirt again when they leave. The idea was unacceptable to him. The shirt looked silly and its frayed condition does not provide a decent cover for her upper body.

Gabriella was surprised to see him suddenly shrugging out of his dark gray jacket and handing the expensive looking clothing over to her. "Use this." He said, his firm tone dissuaded any objections from her and as soon as her fingers closed over the jacket, he strode off.

* * * * * *

"This is where you live?"

Gabriella shot him a sideways glance and saw his mortified reaction to the dismal two-storey building where she lives. She did not answer him, letting him roam his eyes around the place and arrive at several ugly conclusions on his own as they climbed the creaking stairs up to the second floor where her aunt's apartment was. They had just left from the police station where she made her own statement about the mugging corroborating Troy's—that's his name, she discovered during the interview with the officer who took their statements—and upon his insistence, accompanied her home because he said, "_I will feel better knowing you got home safely."_

Gabriella was a little wary of his gruffness at first but she sensed underneath it all he is genuinely concerned for her well being and she has to admit it felt quite nice to know, that aside from bringing her to the hospital and paying for her medical charges as a way to thank her for saving his life, he is also making an effort to amend for his error earlier about her gender.

For that, she can ignore his brusque behavior which she deduced was probably the result of how he was brought up . . . but still she couldn't shake off the strange uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. From the time she agreed to let him accompany her home, he took on this brooding expression like he's carefully considering his options and not liking them or waiting for the right moment to say something disagreeable to her but is unwilling to hurt her feelings; whichever it is Gabriella couldn't stop herself from trying to guess what's going on inside his good looking head that it added more to her anxiety.

And he just had to be handsome too. Distractingly handsome! It was quite off-putting for someone as plain and artless as her.

She was unbelievably relieved, short of skipping her way in, when they reached her building because it meant they will now part ways and she couldn't be more eager to do so if only to settle her emergent restlessness, but his reaction of growing horror—although not quite surprising since as she had been carefully observing his urbane mannerisms, the way he seems to carry himself with natural confidence and an air of casual indifference, Gabriella arrived at the conclusion that he may be from a lofty social background—was nevertheless too extreme in her opinion.

However, she did not comment on it nor did she make excuses for the place where she lives. If he really is from the upper crust of American society, she could understand his appalled reaction and therefore, even if she's inclined to apologize for the place she calls home—which she's not—nothing she says will change his opinion. Besides, she didn't ask him to come. He insisted and in their brief time together, she gathered he seems of the intelligent sort, so she's certain he knows what to expect from this part of town.

Once they reached the designated door, Gabriella knocked because the door was locked like she anticipated and she has no key—_stupid backpack!_ She hoped fervently that Jason and the girl with him has enough sense and respect for her aunt's place, and they aren't exploring each other's anatomy or she will be waiting outside for quite awhile.

"Are you sure there's someone inside?" Troy asked after three minutes of Gabriella's knocking without so much as a squeak heard from the other side of the door.

"My brother and his date are in there." She mumbled, raising her fist to knock louder. "Dammit, Jason! I know you're in there! Open up!" She isn't stupid not to know what could be happening inside but she couldn't stop wishing she's wrong and that Jason was just soundly sleeping in his room because she's desperate to get in and bid Troy goodbye.

Troy Bolton seems like a decent sort, no question about that. In fact, for a guy with his obvious class, he surprised her by being extra considerate of her instead of simply treating her as someone he's obligated to repay then be done with. But the way he kept staring at her face with a rather odd glint in his piercing blue eyes was making her terribly self-conscious, and since she couldn't recall the last time she felt conscious or particularly cared how she looks, Gabriella hated herself for the sudden urge to run her hands through her short locks and tame the unruly curls.

Troy leaned his back against the wall next to the closed door, crossed his arms over his chest and slowly shook his head. "Unless your brother is deaf which I'm sure he's not," He drawled matter-of-factly and quirked a knowing brow at her irritated face. "I think it's safe to assume he's _deeply_ _occupied_ by his girlfriend. Since you can't break down that door and even if you tell me to break it down I won't do it, we might as well leave and come back when they aren't _busy_ anymore. I'd hate to see your knuckles bleed this time from too much knocking."

Mildly flustered by his added concern for her knuckles and the meaningful emphasis of _deeply occupied_, Gabriella shook her head at his suggestion. "You can go. It's getting late. I'll just wait here." She said but when he didn't budge from the wall, she realized he wants to have his jacket back. "Oh! I'm sorry . . . of course, your jacket." Thinking quickly, she turned away from him to knock on her neighbor's door, Edna Warren, a single mother of two young boys. She can ask to borrow a shirt from Edna for the meantime so she can give back Troy's jacket—

Troy's hand quickly shot out to grasp Gabriella's arm and he exerted just enough pressure to draw her back. "Keep the jacket." He intoned wryly. "Is there anywhere we could eat, preferably decent food, while we wait for your brother and his girl to finish?"

"We?" Gabriella asked, tipping her face up trying to assess his inscrutable expression for what he was suggesting. "You want me to come with you?"

He sighed, but even without her consent, started pulling her toward the stairs. "I believe _we_ means more than one and since _I_ doesn't make _we_, that means you join me to make us _we_."

His condescending tone, which is also uncalled for, pierced through Gabriella's wariness. Her eyes narrowed irritably. She jerked her arm from him and retorted, "I hope I'm not the first person to tell you how sarcastic and arrogant you are."

"You're not." He said impassively as he grabbed her wrist and urged her down the stairs at a pace suited for someone escaping a building on fire.

"Slow down!" Gabriella has little choice but to keep up with his steps. She's quite agile herself but he was taller, his legs longer than hers so she was taking the stairs two at a time just to avoid being dragged. "Do you always treat people like this?"

"Like what?" He asked blandly, not breaking his stride and his hold on her wrist.

"Like they don't have a brain between their ears and like you own them." She huffed, exerting an effort to tug on his arm to make him decelerate his descent a little. Thankfully, either by her words or her pull, he made himself trudge down the steps at a less hurried pace but he did not release her wrist. Gabriella wasn't finished with her indignant outburst either. "I refuse to be treated as such regardless of who you are or where you're from. I happen to have a brain that works perfectly well especially when I need it and you—are not the boss of me. I also detest being manhandled by strangers!"

"My God, you can talk!" Troy heaved in exasperation once they were out of the building and he dropped her arm. He turned to her, reluctant amusement lurking in his blue pools, then he plainly averred, "I'm hungry, Gabriella, and between the two of us you're the one who knows where the nearest restaurant is. I want you to show me where it is and I insist that you join me to eat."

"Well," She breathed, equally exasperated but also slightly flustered by the sound of her name from his lips; she plunked both hands on her waist, eyeing him in mild annoyance. "why didn't you just say that in the first place?" Then she straightened and stalked past him, leading the way to the nearest diner in the area and not bothering to tell him to follow.

Except for his father, Troy can't recall anyone treating him the way she just did because the people who know him are aware of the dire consequences such actions would entail. Gabriella Montez is blissfully ignorant of who he really is and what he's capable of but as he trailed behind her, Troy found himself torn whether to be annoyed or amused with her. In the last few hours, she has shown him several contrasts in her personality—she was his valiant savior with a temper when insulted, a docile lamb in the hospital who shyly asked him a favor and promised to pay him back, a teenager flustered to the roots of her hair because he kept staring at her and now, a spitfire hoyden who has no qualms to pointing out the error of his character and treatment of her—and damn if he didn't find her delightfully refreshing. "Don't let anyone trick you into thinking you have a cheerful disposition because you don't." He decided to be amused instead because with everything that happened to him today, Gabriella Montez is undoubtedly the most interesting.

"Oh shut up." She shot back over her shoulder.

"And that's my point exactly."

Five minutes later, Troy looked upon a well lighted eatery with a few cars parked outside. "Sam's Diner?" He said, raising his sights to the huge glowing orange signage erected on the roof of the establishment and the lighted 'Open 24 Hours' notice by the glass window.

"What?" She furrowed her brows at him, half turning to have a better look at his face. "You've never eaten in a diner before?"

"No." Troy drily replied, mentally smacking himself for expecting a classy restaurant. He's in the dumps. Being classy is the least of their concern around here.

Her surprise to his answer was another reason to eye him thoughtfully for a few seconds, once more noting his debonair look, his compelling aura, and arriving at a definite conclusion before Gabriella said in a casual tone, "There's a first for everything even for a rich kid like you, Mr. Troy Bolton—so let's go in."

"Is the food here . . . decent?"

"Very." She assured with an emphatic nod as they entered the diner. Then, turning to him, her face took on a perfect impression of giddiness, her eyes over bright like she just discovered something extraordinary and confided to him in an awed tone, "And the fries here . . . are _French_!"

She was mocking him, he knew, but in another unforeseen swing of his usually dark mood, Troy allowed himself to laugh at her impertinence. "How clever of them." He rejoined coolly. "The French are quite decent."

Her eyes danced with merriment but she gravely intoned, "So I've heard."

"French chefs are the best." Troy informed casually as if he was eager to impart his superior knowledge to her as they found an empty booth on the far side of the diner. "They're very confident of their abilities and they demand respect every time . . . although they tend to be highly emotional when displeased. I'm sure I'll enjoy French fries. French food is one of my favorites, you know."

"You're mocking me." Gabriella warned but she was helpless to stop the grin from showing on her lips.

He tipped his head at her. "Touché."

After their orders were served by their attending waitress who openly flirted on Troy and which he ignored the entire time, he dismissed the waitress named Millie with a curtness that bellied his irritation for her attempts to entice him. Gabriella lowered her gaze, trying to bite back a smile, to avoid the woman's affronted look at Troy's dismissal of her and the derisive glare she threw her way as if it was Gabriella's fault her outrageous advances were not returned by Troy.

"What makes you think I'm rich?" Troy asked as soon as they were alone in the booth, helping himself with the cheeseburger he ordered for himself.

She shrugged, subtly watching him take the first bite off his burger after he dissected the items between the bun like he is some kind of food connoisseur. Though his behavior seems much more relaxed now, Gabriella noted. "Same reason that you know I'm poor." She answered, sampling the mozzarella stick first.

He eyed her questioningly. "Meaning?" Then his gaze leveled on the fried mozzarella stick she was eating and with his free hand snatched one for himself from the serving plate.

"My eyes don't have a habit of deceiving me like I'm sure yours didn't deceive you either when you saw where I lived. Besides, your intimate knowledge of French chefs set you apart from the rest of us," Gabriella sassed with a jaunty smile. "and you obviously don't look like you're from around here. You look rich."

"I mistook you for a boy." He reminded, deliberately and cleverly diverting the topic from him and his social standing to her.

Gabriella waved the half eaten mozzarella stick at him unaware of the shift. "But you realized your mistake when you saw my—"

"Breasts." Troy filled in with a smirk, displaying none of the disconcertion Gabriella suddenly felt at the direction their talk had suddenly taken. Then he bragged cheekily, "I'm quite familiar with breasts."

"With your looks, I've no doubt." Gabriella promptly rolled her eyes at him and took a long sip of her tall glass of strawberry milkshake until it was nearly empty and her head was beginning to throb from taking too much of the cold drink at once.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and grinned impishly, not oblivious to her discomfort of their topic but he couldn't keep himself from wanting to see the pink tint highlight on her smooth cheeks. "Why thank you, Gabriella Montez." He genially said at the veiled compliment to his looks, at the same time wondering to himself why it felt so easy to relate with her and why talking to a complete stranger from the slums held his interest better than his rich peers could.

Gabriella took it upon herself to change the subject. "How's your burger?"

Though her brothers keep it a point not to talk about their girls in her presence, she's heard enough snippets of their conversations to know how they prefer a certain girl's body part to be like to excite them. And the guys in East High definitely talk a lot about their girls and what they particularly like about each of them. What she knows about breasts are limited to her own which are undersized and like the rest of her could not drive any straight guy to yearning. She's not experienced enough to spar with a worldly rich stranger she just met a few hours ago and on a topic that makes her feel very uncomfortable and inept.

"I've had better." Troy replied without rancor breaking into her musings and Gabriella was briefly startled as she assumed he was talking about her breasts instead of the taste of the burger.

Clearing her head to focus from breasts to the more important issues she needed answers from him, Gabriella squared her shoulders and asked resolutely, "What are you doing in this part of town? Visiting a relative . . . a friend?"

"Getting lost." Troy replied dryly then he leaned back into the booth and looked at the determined tilt of her chin which then drew his attention to the charming little dent on it.

Gabriella wrinkled her nose, now that she successfully diverted their conversation her curiosity of Troy mounted. "Where are you from really?"

"Los Angeles."

"Do you want me to help you get back to wherever you're staying before you got lost?" She tentatively offered, wishing he wouldn't be so uninformative with his replies because she wants to understand what brought him here and why he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave even if it's obvious he dislikes everything he's seen and is seeing.

"Not really."

"Okay . . . so where are you going after we're done here? I hope you're not planning to get yourself mugged again because I'm fresh out of costumes."

Troy grinned at that but his eyes were trained on the soda can on the table he was absently turning between his hands. He looked like he was contemplating what to say, what do.

"I could take you to a hotel . . . a decent one." She offered again.

"I can't stay in a hotel." He said and Gabriella heard faint disgust in his tone before he added, "My father will look for me at every damned hotel in Albuquerque."

Surprised by the vehemence in his voice at the mention of his father, Gabriella let the silence between them reign for awhile as she tried to come up with a suitable explanation for his strange behavior. So far, even if he didn't explicitly admit it, she knows he's rich. She knows it as sure as she knows he got lost in the area from running away from his father. The mugging was purely accidental. Whatever his reasons for bailing on his father, his indecision on what to do next revolved around the man he was desperate to avoid. He may have the money to pay but his options are very limited and . . . with a jolt of realization . . . she is one of the options he's considering to pursue.

In fact, all things she knows of him considered, she's his best choice and he's biding his time to tell her because—he doesn't know how to tell her. He doesn't know how to ask. "You need a place to stay." Gabriella softly said.

"Just for the night." He affirmed then quickly added, "I'll pay, of course."

"My aunt's place didn't impress you at all earlier." Gabriella reminded. "You were ready to bolt as soon as you saw the building."

He didn't deny it. "Regardless of my impression, at this time, it's my best option . . . assuming you're offering."

Gabriella thought he was arrogant even when he's the one needing help. Briefly she wondered how often he found himself in this position as a person who needs help. Probably not often or maybe never . . . until now. "It's not mine to offer but if you're sure you want to stay in a small, dingy apartment with complete strangers just to avoid your father then I'll talk to my aunt."

He flashed a dazzling smile to her. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." Gabriella averred, ignoring the startling effect of his smile on her senses by attacking the apple pie she ordered for dessert. "My aunt has the final say in this matter."

"I know, Gabriella . . . I was thanking you for saving my life."

* * * * * *


	3. Chapter 3 Stranger

Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

Gabriella's brother Jason, Troy discovered, is not a Montez but a Cross. He is of the same age as Gabriella. He has coal black hair that appears to be in desperate need of a comb or better yet a pair of scissors. He's average in height, slightly on the chubby side but quite good looking and he seems to possess an amiable personality as his lively eyes made a fleeting sweep of Troy from head to foot. Jason also did not spend his time inside the apartment _romping_ with his girlfriend like he and Gabriella initially assumed because when they returned from the diner, Jason was fully clothed and was just about to enter the apartment as well.

Jason didn't look surprised either when he saw Troy with his sister and if Troy was expecting a reaction from him, it definitely wasn't of Jason Cross laughing his ass off at him after Gabriella hastily enlightened him of the events that led up to their meeting, then bluntly telling Troy between bouts of laughter and despite Gabriella's stern demand for him shut up that, "Chad and me always wondered when she'd tire bringing home furry four legged ones."

"What do you mean?" Troy inquired askance, looking from a laughing Jason who he was beginning to like less to Gabriella who was blushing and glaring with murder in her eyes at her oblivious brother.

"Strays, man!" Jason exclaimed heartily, clapping him on the shoulder with a force that should have sent Troy staggering forward if he weren't able to brace his stance in time. "Gabster here," He roughly pulled a scowling Gabriella to his side and looped his arm over her resisting shoulders and gave it a hard squeeze of affection. "has a soft heart for strays. Just last week she brought home a stray kitten and now . . . here you are!"

Troy's stunned gaze shifted back to Gabriella who winced, either from the brusque affection given by her brother or from embarrassment because of her brother, and then she returned his gaze with an apologetic look that Troy understood to mean she can't stop Jason any more than he can and to just bear with it. "Where's the stray kitten now?" He raised a brow and directed his question to Gabriella.

With a sheepish smile, Gabriella opened her mouth to answer him but was immediately cut off by her brother.

"Is that the—Crespi slip-ons?" Jason suddenly blurted in complete discord with the current topic of strays. His unrelated outburst broke off Troy and Gabriella's shared silent look then shifted their attention to Jason who swiftly knelt at Troy's feet to closely inspect the black pinstripe designed Vans shoes, that for reasons unfathomable to Troy and only known to Jason, he seems very in awe of.

"Yes." Troy replied, impulsively moving back a step away from Jason, confused and a little harassed by the abrupt change in the other man at the sight of an ordinary pair of shoes, which made him throw another questioning glance at Gabriella who now looked completely mortified by her brother's behavior.

She cast him an apologetic look, opened her mouth to say something then quickly changed her mind with a helpless shake of her head. "Jason, stand up!" Gabriella snapped instead, grabbing Jason's arm to pull him to his feet as she did so. "Don't be an idiot!"

"I've been saving to buy me a pair of that."

"Yes, you keep telling us since last year—until now you have nothing saved!"

"Gotta stop taking girls on dates."

"You need to stop a lot of other stupid things."

"I don't get it—"

"You're a moron!"

Taking a safer distance as the siblings exchanged words, cautious not to get caught in the middle like the times he found himself in the thick of Ryan and Sharpay's verbal slander against each other and barely survived with his clothes intact, Troy sighed harshly, running a hand through his hair. This is one hell of a mess he plunged into and he's unprepared for it. He's had enough stress for one day and he could tell Jason is quite a hand full. How Gabriella—who he thinks is smart, witty, mannerly and considerate—survived living with a brash, ill mannered, I-could-care-less person all these years is beyond the ken of his rationality.

If Jason is a glimpse of what the other brother and the aunt will be, he will have a hard time keeping his disposition in check, even for just a few hours.

Withdrawing his thoughts from what is still to be decided, he scanned the apartment instead—he failed to do so minutes before because of his astonishment from meeting Jason that he now concludes, apart from his earlier impression, as blunt, a little slow in the head and possesses the attention span of a five year old—he noted right off that it was small like what Gabriella claimed. In fact, carefully trailing his eyes across the area within its four walls, he realized his own room in the Los Angeles mansion as well as his other bedrooms in the other houses his family owns is bigger than the apartment where purportedly four people live.

A small sofa, two extra chairs with no back rest and a low rectangular center table that's bare are flanked in a semi circle in front of a small television screen on top of a black table positioned against the wall, Troy assumed, made up the living room which is where they are crowding now. There is a disc player placed on the table's horizontal partition halfway down the length of the table's legs and there are two—small sized—plastic drawer type containers stacked next to the television which, as Troy read from the labels, contained an alphabetized DVD arrangement of the movies and series they have. Overhead, attached to the wall, parallel racks hold several books lined according to height and some board games. The limited living area pans out into four closed doors probably bedrooms and a bathroom and a door-less entry to what looked to be a kitchen and dining area in one.

But despite the obvious meager size of the place, Troy was startled to see it was very clean and it smelled clean too. He isn't sure if there's anything brand new of the things he's seeing but everything looked—from the sparse furniture to the modest home decors that hung on one wall—incredibly clean and orderly that he was confident he wouldn't feel squeamish or disgusted or have an urge to sneeze if he touched any of it. There isn't anything he could see that is unkempt or misplaced and the apartment gave an impression that very fastidious people live there. Gabriella and her aunt must be so because obviously imagining Jason as the type of guy who pays particular attention to orderliness is such a farfetched and absurd notion.

The inside of the apartment is definitely a revelation to Troy considering the dismal state of the building they were in and his general opinion of this part of town. And if the shock of meeting Jason made him reconsider the wisdom of his decision to stay here, the overall tidiness of the place and his positive impression of Gabriella forced him to linger, provided, of course, Gabriella's aunt allows him to settle here overnight.

He was about to move forward to assist Gabriella with pulling the obstinate Jason upright when the front door opening caught his attention and Troy involuntarily braced himself for another awkward meeting with, he assumed, Gabriella's other brother Chad. In came a dark skinned guy, with a poofed up crown of hair slightly bouncing as he bobbed his head to whatever music is playing from the sound buds stuck to his ears. His head was bent low so Troy couldn't clearly see his face; this brother seems carried away by the music he was listening to, his hand imitated an intense drumming motion while he simultaneously closed the door with the heel of his foot. He then swung his backpack from his shoulders, took two steps, looked up and stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes very slowly went from Troy—lingering on him for a few seconds while his dumbfounded face gave way to a deep frown—to Gabriella whom he raised a quizzical brow at, then narrowed sharply on Jason. "I must be in the wrong apartment or else my eyes are playing tricks on me." He drawled derisively then he removed the buds from his ears and tossed his backpack on the sofa before standing straight to cross his arms over his chest, keeping his gaze on the kneeling brother. "Jason, if you're on your knees praying for your sins, I can assure you right now you'll be kneeling for a month, even more, so don't bother."

"Chad . . ." Gabriella spoke ready to make light of Troy's presence but with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, Chad silenced Gabriella then he turned his attention back at Jason.

In a half kneel, Jason paid no attention to the acerbic remark and instead pointed out the cause of his fascination. "He's wearing Crespi, Chad!" He said as if that justifies his undignified kneeling. "And I think it's the real thing, not a fake."

Troy felt compelled to react, rather affronted Jason would think he'd wear a cheap imitation of anything that he forgot to consider their social differences and that Jason was only speaking based on his knowledge of what kind of things the people he's acquainted with often buy to get their hands on a certain brand. "It's real." He insisted adamantly, letting his annoyance show regardless that he's the stranger in their home who's hoping to be allowed to stay if he makes a good impression as their potential house guest.

"Stand up, Jason." Chad firmly ordered of his brother and turned his full attention on Troy. "Who are you supposed to be?" He didn't sound pleased and his displeasure showed well on his face and posture.

Realizing too late that Chad took exception to his belligerent retort, Troy forced to calm his ire over the trivial matter of his shoes' authenticity. He did dress very casually when he left the hotel. The pair he's wearing cost but a tiny fraction of the others he owns. Imagine how Jason would react to the really expensive ones. The guy would probably end up kissing his feet.

He shook his head. Although he managed to carefully mask how he felt and altogether dismiss his affront for the shoes, deep down he still feels aggravated that he's now being forced to mind what he says and does because he's literally at the mercy of these people, Gabriella's brother in particular and soon, her aunt.

He's out of his own world and into theirs. He is now the person who's trying to please another to win their favor. And he doesn't like to be on that end of the stick but unless he can think of a better way out of this mess with his father, he has to accept the temporary situation as such.

If this happened to any one of his friends or acquaintances, he'd surely find it laughable but since he's the one stuck in this predicament, the notion doesn't seem funny in the least bit.

Seeing Chad's disapproving scowl only reinforced in Troy that like Gabriella, they don't know who he is or how much he's actually worth or that being a Bolton means he's accustomed to always getting what he wants when he wants it, no questions asked. But Chad and Jason, and he's almost sure the aunt as well, wouldn't really care regardless. Actually, Gabriella didn't care either. In fact, earlier, she sounded disappointed when she said he's rich and he had a feeling she was waiting for him to deny it, which is the oddest reaction he's ever gotten from a female or anyone for that matter.

It also looks as though they don't give a shit what Troy thinks of them. Be it good or bad. It won't affect them. But they won't harm him either. Troy is sure of it, as sure as knowing without Chad explicitly telling him that because he's in their turf, it's _their_ rules being imposed on him and like it or not, temporary or not, they expect him to abide by it if he really wants to stay. Come to think of it, Chad's silently communicated view of Troy's position in their territory is pretty much the same as his own views, his own imposition on others when he's in his home turf and for that he couldn't fault the guy.

Gabriella's brother Chad, Troy decided, is not like Jason. He's also not a real brother to either Jason or Gabriella judging from his looks, although compared to Jason, he seems smarter, probably as astute as Gabriella and quite self assured. Maybe he's older than Jason and Gabriella because, Troy could see, of the three, he's definitely the authority figure. If things were different, Troy thought, he would have liked the guy. Unfortunately, that isn't the case here and besides, if Gabriella's aunt will allow, his stay will only be for a few hours so it wouldn't really matter what their opinion of each other is.

Gabriella let go of Jason's arm, upsetting his balance. "Chad, This is Troy Bo—" She began to explain trying to draw her brother's attention to her, already she can sense the unsavory impressions Chad was making of Troy and his curiosity for Troy being there was evident in his questioning gaze. For some reason, the last thing she wants is for Chad to decide against Troy staying with them and evict him out of the apartment before her aunt even comes home, but she was again interrupted by Jason.

"Dude, how many days have you been wearing these shoes?" Jason clamored in a thoroughly appalled tone, suddenly scrambling to get up and away from Troy's shoes when only moments before he was short of worshiping the thing. "They smell—awful—fishy!"

"At the hospital—" Troy absently put in as he cast a brief assessing look at Chad, noting the apparent differences between him and Jason and then he noticed Gabriella's tense look directed at Chad. "the pregnant lady's water broke and it spilled on my shoes."

"Shit that's gross!" Jason exclaimed shaking his head. Gabriella stole a quick glance at Troy's shoe and grimaced a little before looking back at Chad.

Chad had a different and more significant concern than Jason, proving yet another difference in their character. He didn't care about the shoes, whether it was fake or real, whether it smelled or not. It was not important. "What hospital?—you were in a hospital with him?" He demanded from Gabriella, pointing a finger from his sister to Troy. "What the hell happened to you, Gabriella?" He sounded angry but also worried as he inspected his sister for any obvious signs of injury, found none, but he noticed the expensive jacket she was wearing and swiftly leveled his gaze back at Troy. "Who are you?"

Gabriella quickly jumped in to explain before Chad loses his temper altogether, but unlike her clarifications to Jason, this time it was more detailed and she narrated what transpired earlier like she was making Chad soften his attitude toward Troy by stressing very clearly that he took responsibility for her injuries which were very minor by taking her to the hospital, staying with her, paying for her medical bills and even treating her to dinner. It's as if she wants Chad to understand that Troy took the extra time and effort to see to her needs to express his gratitude which she said, "Not every stranger would do.", which therefore warrants his presence in their apartment.

Troy was so astounded by her recitation and the depth of appreciation underlying it for what he considered a paltry thing he did for her that he was momentarily speechless as he stared at her. Did he just paint him out like a Good Samaritan of some kind? That certainly is a first. Then quickly, he realized, Gabriella was backing him up to ensure Chad won't raise any objections against Troy staying with them when she asks for her aunt's permission later.

Chad, however, wasn't speechless or impressed and he didn't soften toward the guy either. He was suspicious of Troy, if anything, and curious why Gabriella seems to have stopped thinking rationally because of a stranger she met in a dark alley. He knows what Gabriella is doing and he now has a clear idea of Troy's purpose for being in their apartment although he couldn't understand why. The guy wore a casual gray shirt and jeans which should've been a common get up and it was, except on sight, on Troy Bolton it looked expensive; but other than the obvious quality of his clothing, there's something in his overall appearance that called attention to him. Whether it's his tousled style hair, his blue eyes, his pretty boy face or the quiet power and self-assurance emanating from every inch of the guy or all of those, Chad wasn't sure. He's only sure he didn't belong. And his arrogant bearing annoyed him.

The reason for his confusion was why Gabriella felt it necessary to bring him into their apartment when the guy looked like he can afford the best accommodations around, unless . . .

Jason provided an answer to that riddle in seconds. "He's a _stray_ person." He uttered in a bored tone and promptly turned his back to them, slumping down on the sofa to flick through the channels of the television, clearly showing he lost interest on them.

"What _enlightening_ information, Jason!" Gabriella retorted sardonically and then knocked the back of Jason's head. He merely grunted in reaction.

Surprisingly, Chad chuckled, losing his aggressive stance as he dropped his arms to his sides and said to Troy, "At least you aren't purring or barking or squawking. You look clean and decent and except for your shoes . . . you don't smell like the others she usually brings home."

Wary by the sudden change in Chad's demeanor, unconvinced that Jason's remark of him being a _stray_ was easily accepted by Chad, Troy asked a bit hesitantly, "Should I be saying thank you to that?"

"No," Chad leaned his hip against the back rest of the sofa, on the surface looking negligent as he shot his sister a meaningful glance Troy could not read but Gabriella acknowledged with a small nod. "we should be thanking Gabriella."

"Why?" Troy asked, observing Gabriella's reaction to her brother. She looked to Chad as if promising him of something, something that had nothing to do with their current topic of conversation.

Chad pushed off the sofa and dryly averred, "Because our sinuses could use a break."

"What—exactly does Gabriella bring home and how often?"

"Not often!"Gabriella protested but deep down she felt relieved Chad backed down on Troy. She has some more explaining to do to him later though, because between her two brothers, Chad is the more protective one and he just silently told her the ploy didn't work on him and that he doesn't like Troy. "It's just this week was—"

"_Often_." Jason piped in, cutting off Gabriella then he switched off the TV and got up to leave, disappearing through one of the doors without a backward glance.

"_Annoyingly_ often." Chad categorized specifically, grabbing his backpack from the sofa and moved around them toward the same door Jason went into. Then before closing the door, he addressed Troy, "You're the first of your kind."

The soft thud of the door closing was followed by a lengthy silence in the living room before Troy looked at Gabriella and said, "I'm afraid to ask what he means by that."

With a plucky smile, she clarified, "He means you're the first stray I brought home that smells . . . decent."

"Except for my shoes, of course." He snorted a laugh but after a moment's pause, quickly turned serious. "What time is your aunt coming home?"

"Soon." Gabriella took a step back, hesitated then said, "While we wait make yourself at home, Troy."

He moved from his spot to sit on the sofa. "Where will you be?"

"In my room. I have to change my clothes." Gabriella watched him slowly pat the top of the sofa as if he was searching for a sharp object that could be embedded in the cushions and when he sat down, bounced a few times to either test the quality of the foam underneath the upholstery or find a comfortable position for his derriere. She suppressed a giggle and said, "I'll give you your jacket in a bit."

He swung around from the sofa, an arm casually draped on the back rest, to face her. "You can have it." He was firm and as if to soften the slight edge on his tone, he reasoned with a smile, "It looks better on you."

Gabriella refused to be swayed by his smile, no matter how doubly charming and handsome he is when his serious face lightens with a simple smile. "No, Troy." She shook her head, determined to set her foot down on the matter. "You don't need to give me any—"

But he was much more determined to get his way and a hell of a lot more experienced on how to get it, therefore he interrupted to cease the topic and not give her a chance to object or argue with him. "What's your aunt like?" He asked. Her aunt is his pressing concern anyway now that Chad and Jason are out of the way.

She sighed resignedly, seeing the stubborn set of his jaw and his cool blue eyes looking straight at her, telling her not to bother disagreeing. "Pretty and nice. She's a social worker." She replied with a small smile and went to sit next to him, forestalling the changing of clothes. She had to admit she was rather curious of Troy. There are several questions that come to mind. She wants to ask him about his father and why he feels so strongly against the man that he's willing to subject himself to any discomfort just to get away from him . . . but she has no idea how to start. Besides, she doesn't think Troy would be open to such a personal discussion with a stranger. He seems very guarded and rightly so. They aren't friends and tomorrow he'll be gone anyway . . . she sighed, quelling the curiosity. She shouldn't concern herself with him too much.

"Will she let me stay?" He made room for her and shifted his body so that he was still facing her while they talk. His voice carefully controlled. "Your brothers obviously don't want me here."

Gabriella didn't sense any annoyance in his tone at the mention of her brothers, only worry that her aunt might refuse because of her brothers' opinion of him; and she felt it necessary to appease him with the reason why her brothers, especially Chad, reacted to him negatively. "Chad and Jason are in shock—"

He readily accepted that with a nod, not letting her finish. "Because you brought home a stray person instead of an animal." He sounded so sure. "It's one hell of an insulting comparison but whatever . . ."

Gabriella averted her gaze from him to stare at the TV up front and she smiled widely, willing herself not to burst into laughter. "No—" Her voice sounded a little strangled and she had to clear her throat to continue. "because I brought home a guy."

"What's so shocking about that?" Troy kept his eyes on her profile, unconsciously admiring the delicate lines of her face, the surprisingly flawless skin and the lovely smile on her lips. He wondered where her parents are, why she's living with her aunt and two adoptive brothers, why she's repeatedly refusing to be paid for saving his life, why she will try to help him again by convincing her aunt to let him stay for the night.

She erupted in giggles then and her brown eyes filled with laughter looked back at him again. "There's nothing shocking about it if it were any other girl but me." Gabriella said with a grin, unaware that to others she sounds like she's deprecating herself. To her, of course, it wasn't like that. She knows she looks plain and she doesn't harbor any illusions contrary to it and is therefore comfortable talking about it. "I don't look like someone who can entice a guy to come with her, especially someone who looks like you."

Now Troy was confused. He was smiling at the sound of her musical giggle that he doesn't how and when their conversation suddenly shifted and actually made him lose his train of thought. Did she just compliment his looks again, this time at the detriment of her own? "What?"

"I'm not pretty." She stated plainly, but was also confused by his puzzled expression.

Several seconds passed with Troy merely staring at her and Gabriella waiting for him to say something since he looks like he's very slowly processing what she just told him and is thinking of a good response to say back to her. "You're not?" He echoed. He sounded ridiculous even to his own ears.

Rolling her eyes at him, she gave him an exasperated sigh. "Come on, Troy, you don't need to pretend you find me attractive out of consideration for my tender feminine feelings or out of gratitude for saving you. I already know how I look. You thought I was a boy, remember." She smiled to let him see it's no big deal and he shouldn't make a fuss of it either. He blinked twice, noted her smiling face and the matter-of-fact way she was telling him she's ugly. "I know I'm not pretty and I assure you I'm not distraught by that fact."

Troy grabbed both her arms, finally comprehending what she's telling him, and he felt quite annoyed too. At her. Because she didn't even look upset or embarrassed by the belittling remarks she made about her own face. "You think—" He would have shaken her for such a demoralizing logic, asked her what was wrong with her head, told her he happens to think she's pretty and nice and witty, but her aunt arrived in that moment and alerted them of her presence with a quiet question. "Gabriella, who's your friend?"

Their heads swung in unison toward the door and Gabriella abruptly stood up, dragging Troy to stand as well since he still had a firm grasp of her arms. "Aunt Lucille!" Gabriella exclaimed, smiling, and she flung Troy's hold off her arms. "I'm so glad you're home."

"Good evening, Ma'am." Troy intoned formally, straightening next to Gabriella, pushing aside his annoyance for the meantime.

* * * * * *

Lucille Montez Smarth is another surprise to Troy.

She's not at all what he expected of Gabriella's aunt to be. Lucille, as Gabriella whispered to him, is forty years of age but from Troy's vantage point she doesn't look a day over thirty. She's tall, slim, very poised even in simple clothes and she's not pretty like Gabriella said she was . . . Lucille Smarth is beautiful.

She greeted Troy with a polite smile and gracefully made her way inside the apartment. After Gabriella kissed Lucille's cheek in greeting, Jason and Chad came out of their room as if on cue and each greeted Lucille with kisses to the cheek as well. They fell into a lively chatter about what transpired during the day that merits to be shared as they all moved to the kitchen, leaving Troy behind to feel like an invisible intruder, an astonished one too after the affectionate greetings he just witnessed.

They sure are an odd family, he thought. And for an odd family, they seem so close. It's another contradiction to what he assumed a family living in the dumps would be like. Lucille Smarth doesn't even look like she has a problem weighing down on her. She radiated a happy and content disposition and the affection that enlivened her eyes when Gabriella, Chad and Jason greeted her was quite a sight to see.

It was a good ten minutes that they were out of Troy's view and he could hear their cheerful voices still talking as if they haven't seen each other in quite awhile. He waited . . . it was all he could do. He's basically in no position to be impatient, although he already is and keeping it controlled within was proving to be a difficult undertaking. Maybe he should start considering other options. Like, stay in a motel or an inn. Preferably one that looks decrepit that his father won't consider looking for him there. He could pay the owner or whoever is in charge to keep his mouth shut on the off chance that Jack lets his people scour the entire state of Albuquerque to find him.

And then what? Is it even possible for him to fly back to L.A. undetected by Jack? He sighed. He has a lot of thinking to do and very little time to do it. He can't even think straight right now.

Two minutes later, Gabriella came out from the kitchen followed by her aunt and the brothers. Gabriella sat next to him, gave him a tiny smile and a gentle pat on the hand. Her aunt sat across from them on one of the backless settee. Chad and Jason, engrossed in a laughing argument of sorts, went back inside their room_._

"Gabriella, go and change your clothes." Lucille said as soon as she settled on the settee. Troy braced himself for a setdown.

Without question, Gabriella did as bidden and Troy had to control himself from tugging her down beside him. He felt like a nervous idiot all of a sudden, facing an older woman with her intelligent gray eyes effectively unnerving him. He's used to being stared at and it usually doesn't bother him, but this one is different. Lucille Smarth isn't admiring him. She's keenly observing him, looking beyond his carefully composed façade, yet her face betrayed nothing but her eyes showed kindness. It was so conflicting that he doesn't know what to make of the woman. Is she deceiving him? She looked very cool, very calm as if she's waiting for Troy to make the wrong move or say something audacious that could hasten her decision to kick him out. There isn't anything antagonistic about her pose though, but he couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling she's seeing something unpleasant in him that others have overlooked.

So Troy forced to keep still and silent and like he usually does, schooled his face to impassiveness, sitting rigidly straight on the sofa with his hands resting on his lap, and he let her stare at him for as long as she likes, although hoping she doesn't tarry too much because he can't stand the suspense anymore and he really doesn't have enough time to figure out where else he could stay, if she decides not to accommodate him.

Then she smiled. Troy was taken aback by the unexpected change in her expression that instead of smiling back, he frowned.

Lucille laughed at him then. It was a soft laugh, not rude in the least bit and Troy involuntarily felt himself relax. "Gabriella explained to me what happened, Troy." She said and Troy sensed an understanding in her voice. He waited for her to say more and ask him questions or demanded some things from him which she's very much entitled to, but she surprised him again by saying, "You can stay here for tonight."

"Thank you." Troy said with sincerity, unable to believe it was that simple.

She nodded with a warm smile and casually shared, "Gabriella often brings homeless creatures here."

"Yes. Your sons mentioned it earlier." Troy relaxed further. His problem for tonight is now solved. Given a choice, he would've wanted to stretch himself on a bed and rest, but he felt very genial toward Lucille Smarth so the little chitchat she struck up, he's more than willing to comply with. "I'm the first of my kind apparently."

"What kind are you?"

Troy was surprised by the innocent comeback. "The two legged kind?" He isn't sure what Chad had meant earlier.

Lucille nodded, somewhat amused, a small smile still on her face. "She sheltered a bird once."

"Oh . . ." Troy didn't know what the significance was but he knew it will come to light soon. Lucille is easing into what she wants him to understand for the few hours that he will be under her roof.

She spoke slowly but clearly. "She brings home a lot of animals but she has never brought a snake."

"I hate snakes." Troy emphatically rejoined.

"Don't we all." She said and with a direct look into his eyes, she spoke just as ardently, "I would never welcome one in my home."

The message was clear to Troy. "I feel as strongly as you do, Mrs. Smarth." He averred and he had to keep himself from smiling lest Lucille take it the wrong way. The woman is not only beautiful; she's also very clever without being overbearing and hostile. He was impressed and decided he liked Gabriella's aunt just as much as he likes Gabriella. "If I were in your shoes, I'd be equally cautious against snakes. They can't be trusted."

Her smile widened and Troy could see the silent approval in her eyes. "We understand each other then."

"Yes. Clearly."

She stood up. Troy stood as well. She stepped closer to him and looked down on his shoes. "Troy, you can remove your shoes. It needs to be cleaned and aired." Lucille said but it didn't sound like a request. "Gabriella will give you slippers and clothes to change into. You'll use her room tonight."

He didn't like the idea of Gabriella being ousted from her own room because of him. "Gabriella needn't give up her room. I can sleep here in the sofa."

"You won't be comfortable out here. Gabriella will sleep in my room."

"Okay." He agreed.

As Lucille said, Gabriella directed him into her room, gave him a toothbrush, slippers and a set of new clothes which he did not bother to inquire about. When he was changed and comfortable, he waylaid Gabriella into staying awhile to talk with him since the next day he'll be going his own way and will probably never see her again. He felt saddened by the thought all of a sudden and found himself wanting to spend what little time left chatting with her than resting.

"Thank you." He said as he sat on the edge of her single bed, looking at her seated across from him on a futon by the only window in the room.

She laughed softly, gave him a smiling glance then looked out the window. "You're the most grateful person I've met." She joked.

"You're the kindest person I know."

"I'm not." She denied, ignoring the sincerity ringing in his voice. She felt unreasonably sad over the thought of him going off tomorrow. _He's a stranger, for God's sake!_ "You don't know me well enough to say that."

"You're also the only one I know who doesn't take compliments very well." Troy was mildly annoyed by her stubbornness, then irrationally, he felt even more annoyed when he noticed she's wearing a shirt two sizes too big for her and loose fitted sweat pants. Her clothes swallowed her tiny frame.

"I'm just being honest, Troy." She shrugged. "And I don't really like flowery words."

"I don't tend to flower my words. I say what I mean." Troy knew he sounded a bit harsh but he couldn't seem to help himself. He also realized Gabriella kept her gaze fixed on the window instead of looking at him while she talked. "Look at me when I talk to you." He demanded.

She did but her eyes showed her displeasure over his highhanded tone. "Are we going to argue over how nice I am?" She snapped back.

"I'm sorry." Troy sighed and mumbled contritely, bracing his elbows on his thighs as he kept his gaze on her angry ones. He could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. She's annoyed, all right. He didn't mean to anger her. He wanted a nice, easy conversation but Gabriella's unpredictability and her unusual reactions to such simple statements can rile his equanimity and he doesn't know what's gotten over him. He isn't one to care about others, especially strangers; but he acknowledges, Gabriella is a rare exception. "You're being very stubborn." He said, offering a smile of apology. "I don't give compliments lightly, Miss Montez. You should be honored."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh all right, Mr. Bolton." She heaved, crossing her arms over her chest in an exasperated manner, but there was a teasing lilt in her tone. "Thank you for the compliment."

"That is the most ungrateful thank you I've ever heard." He scoffed, also crossing his arms on his chest.

They burst out laughing after a brief staring contest. It seems so easy for Troy to laugh and tease with her but he did not ponder on the thought long. He decided, for a person like him, it's a rare occurrence indeed to have met someone like her in a place as desolate as the slums. "Believe it or not," He sobered a while later and tapped the space next to him on the bed, motioning for her to sit beside him. When she did, he added quietly, "I think I will miss you."

"Odd, isn't it?" She tried to sound jovial, tried to pass off his quietly spoken words like she isn't affected. She never met anyone quite as handsome, as finicky as him. He already made an impression on her and she's certain she won't forget him that easily. It was nice though, while it lasted. "I'm starting to feel like I will miss you too."

It was meant to sound like a joke but he looked pleased by her admission; the glimmer in his eyes told Gabriella so. "I won't forget you, Gabriella."

His voice was low and husky and she wanted to dismiss it because what he's saying couldn't possibly be true. He's just being nice and grateful. "Oh I'm sure you won't . . ." She stated with a cheerfulness she didn't really feel. "Unless you get into trouble again and another costumed girl you'll mistake for a boy comes along to save you."

"I doubt it. I'm already partial to Peter Pan." He grinned at her peal of laughter and before he realized what he was doing, he reached out to tenderly tip her chin to make her look at him. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Her pulse leapt at his gentle touch as much as it did with his words and the charming look in his eyes. "Okay . . ." She could feel her face getting warmer. She didn't want to blush and embarrass herself over such an innocent touch on his part. In her frenzy, she tried to force some discipline into her reactions, tried to think of something else but failed miserably. She tried to breathe evenly too when Troy began sliding his thumb over the dent on her chin. "Y-you take care too."

Troy smiled and gazed at her with warmth in his cyan eyes as if he knows what his touch was doing to her and that made Gabriella blush easily.

When she left the room, Gabriella went directly to the kitchen and downed three glasses of cold water. Then she silently berated herself for allowing Troy Bolton to affect her usually disciplined senses. Damn it! It was just a simple touch on the chin!

. . . And a kiss on the forehead.

* * * * * *


	4. Chapter 4 Not Quite

Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

It was supposed to be another ordinary Saturday.

She certainly prepared for one. As was her habit, she woke up before six that morning and went about her morning routine. She bathed, got dressed, ate a bowlful of cereals and brushed her teeth. Like usual, she rudely hollered inside her brothers' room to wake them up and remind them of their schedules while they groaned, burying their heads under the pillows and once satisfied she irritated them enough to wake them up, she bid her goodbye to Lucille.

One thing that wasn't part of her routine was when she took a peek inside her room to check on Troy, placed his jacket over his clothes that were draped on the futon and afforded herself one last glimpse of him before he disappears out of their lives for good. He was deep in sleep and if she didn't already know he's a rich kid, she'd think he's very comfortable on her bed. He was sleeping on his stomach, one arm dangled on the side of the bed, the tips of his fingers just about touching the floor and because of his height, the bed was a little short for him so his feet also hung at the end. Nevertheless, a little amazingly, he slept like he owns the bed. Gabriella smiled at his peaceful look, his ruffled brown hair adding a boyish appeal to the chiseled lines of his handsome face.

If she ever felt so inclined to tell her friends about Troy, which she's not, no one will believe such a gorgeous specimen of a guy had slept on her bed. Not even Kelsi. They'd think she's fantasizing. How could they, anyway? She can't even believe it herself and yet the proof is lying on her bed.

Troy is different, that's for sure. It would be unfair to compare him to others. Unfair to him. He isn't in league with most of the guys she knows because of his social background and obvious sophistication. But in spite that, and even with his standoffish demeanor and indifference, he showed her a good amount of consideration and kindness. Granted that she helped him, still it was unexpected and unnecessary of someone from his station in life . . . but it did feel very, very nice to be the recipient of his attention.

It really is ridiculous; this feeling of melancholy over the thought of not seeing him ever again. But she was feeling it and damn if she knew why. She had a hard time finding sleep last night and Lucille had noticed her restlessness too, else why would her aunt tell her in that soft but holding a wealth of meaning voice of hers, "Troy seems like a good guy and it was very nice of him to repay you the way he did after saving his life but I think it was just that—nothing more than repayment and maybe gratitude. It's best to let it go, Gabriella."

In her logical thought, she knew her aunt was right, of course. If she hadn't helped Troy with those muggers and offered him a place to stay, he wouldn't have acted extra nice to her. She's quite certain he wouldn't spare her a second glance had they simply crossed paths on the street. Still, she couldn't help thinking, no matter how foolish and unrealistic the thought is, that maybe . . . just maybe, his actions were prompted by more than just repayment and gratitude.

But when you're living in a deprived area, the harsh realities of life dims whatever silly hopes you may have. What you see is what you get. Logic and practicality dominate your daily decisions. And as much as she allows herself to dream, to imagine herself like one of those beautiful, feisty and spirited heroines in the romantic novels she reads who find love in the most unusual circumstances, reality always has a way of catching up and smacking you wide awake.

She sighed. Yes, she has to let this go. Fanciful thoughts are for fancy people. Sweeping romance happens but in books.

Without intending to, she stared at Troy for the longest time, unconsciously imprinting his face in her mind. She kept telling herself to get moving, to let her feet budge from where she stood but when it did, instead of heading for the door, she took a step closer to the bed and before she could stop herself, lifted a hand to gently brush a lock of hair that fell over his closed eye.

His eyes are the bluest she's ever seen—

He moaned softly and rolled over on his back. Gabriella jumped a good height off the floor and her hands flew over her mouth to silence the gasp of shock both from his sudden movement and from the realization that he was sleeping shirtless, exposing to her startled eyes the well honed, sinewy expanse of his bare torso.

_Hell, here come those fanciful thoughts again!_

She closed her eyes to keep from staring at Troy's chest and waited a few seconds for his next movement, afraid to shift a muscle lest he suddenly awakens and sees her hovering close. When she allowed herself a quick look at the steady rise and fall of his chest and was certain that he's still very much asleep, she quietly turned away from the bed to leave the room.

"Goodbye Troy Bolton." She whispered as she held on to the door, looking back at the sleeping stranger on her bed with a wistful smile before she turned the knob and left him alone.

As soon as she was out of the building, Gabriella forced herself to let the illogical feelings go. She will remember Troy Bolton, of course, but pleasant as it is, it will remain a mere memory. Time to pull away from the haze that surrounded her since last night and back to reality. She had a full day ahead of her and as is her schedule, every Saturday is a day to visit her father.

Yes, it was just like any other Saturday.

* * * * * *

He fell off the bed.

He groaned loudly and when slowly he opened his eyes, the first thought came to mind that the ceiling was too low. He reached a hand toward the bed, levered himself up from the cold floor and slumped back on the mattress, waiting for his sleepy, disoriented senses to come into focus.

The ceiling really was low. He thought fuzzily. The bed was narrow and too short for him. Turning his gaze from the ceiling, his eyes landed on his jacket neatly draped on the futon with the rest of his clothes and his Vans tucked on the floor next to it . . . and finally it dawned on him where he was. Abruptly, Troy sat up and checked the small clock by the window's ledge. It was a few minutes past seven. Way too early for someone whose earliest time to wake up in the morning is ten. But then again, he's in somebody else's bed, somebody else's house and today he needs to get his bearings together to continue with his plan to stay away from his father.

The light tap on the door removed the last vestiges of sleepiness in his head. "Come in." He called, immediately assuming it was Gabriella checking up on him.

Jason poked his head through the wide crack when he opened the door and gave him a sleepy nod in greeting. "Gabriella left already." He announced without preamble as if he knew Troy was expecting his sister to materialize at the door instead of him. "Lucille and Chad too." Yawning, he added, "If you need anything before you leave, I'll be in the kitchen."

It was a hint to hurry and a dismissal but he did not take offense, his concern was of another matter. "Does Gabriella have Saturday classes?" Troy inquired casually; disappointed that he wouldn't be able to see Gabriella before he leaves but he was alert enough to guard the sinking feeling from showing on his face.

Jason eyed him curiously for a bit then shook his head. "No."

Sensing he wasn't about to elaborate on his reply and volunteer Gabriella's whereabouts on a Saturday, Troy let the matter drop. It isn't his business to know anyway and what good will it do if Jason tells him. He was still leaving. "Thanks, man. I'll be out in a minute." With a short nod, the door closed behind Jason.

As he donned his clothes, Troy pushed aside the unreasonable disappointment over not seeing Gabriella today and focused instead on mentally making a list of things he needed to do. Staying in Albuquerque is not an option for him. He's practically incapacitated here. He can't even go to Ryan and Sharpay's country club, Lava Springs, because as guardian to his cousins until they both turn twenty-three and unless those two show any interest in taking over the running of the property, Jack has full control of the club's operations and its staff who are most likely, same as the others under the corporation's employ, loyal to Jack as well. Surely, if Troy goes there, his father will be informed of his presence.

Presently, the only person to help him who won't tell on him—for obvious reasons—is Gabriella and her family but they helped him a great deal already. And they're not exactly overflowing with resources. It would be an abuse of kindness if he continues to burden them. He could not, in good conscience, while there are still other avenues to pursue, take advantage of Gabriella that way.

The best thing for him to do is to call Sharpay and enlist her help into getting out of this rut. Yes, his cousin is the person to ask. Apart from the fact that she would not hesitate at all into helping him and keep the matter a secret, Sharpay also knows all the right people . . . people with connections and ample resources to aid in getting him back to L.A.

It should be easy once he's back in his home city. His resources are there. And speaking of resources—he opened his nearly empty wallet—he needs more money if he wants to get anything accomplished today.

He was shrugging his jacket on, thinking of asking Jason to point him in the direction of the nearest cash machine so he can withdraw money, when he remembered he already gave the jacket to Gabriella. Troy paused, withdrew his arm from the sleeve, chuckled and shook his head then tossed the jacket back on the futon. The girl has a thing against receiving stuff . . . quite unusual for a female but then, despite the little he knew of Gabriella, he couldn't really put her in the same box with all the other females he's acquainted with. It would be an insult to her character. No matter how short their acquaintance, she deserves her own special box.

His gaze travelled around the bedroom he didn't pay regard to last night because he immediately fell asleep after Gabriella left him inside. Somehow, as uncaring and unobservant as he is of his surroundings and of other people and all the more reason he should adopt the same attitude in this instance, he suddenly felt it necessary to commit Gabriella's room to memory. Since he's been deprived of seeing her before he takes his leave, he felt he needed something else to fill the gap, and her room with all her possessions in it, is the closest thing to do it.

His reasons maybe faulty, ridiculous even, and laughable and so unlike him but he couldn't stop himself from satisfying his interest and curiosity of Gabriella Montez. He had meant what he said to her last night about missing her. He surprised himself over that admission, probably more than he surprised her, but the longer he thought about it the more he knew it wasn't a lie he made up just to sweeten their conversation.

He sighed at his thoughts which went to a completely different path the moment he met Gabriella and her odd family. Just what is it about Gabriella that pulls at him? Yes, the circumstance of their sudden meeting was highly irregular in every sense and he had been so tense yesterday after finding himself lost that he wasn't in complete control of his faculties, but why is it that even now she continues to intrigue him? She's not really what he would call a beauty that beckons his attention. She's more on the sweet, pretty side and since he's never bothered with sweet and pretty types before, why then was he drawn to Gabriella? At this point, he knows it has nothing to do anymore with compensating for saving his life but he isn't capable of thinking for explanations why he's going to miss the one person who is nothing but a stranger to him—kind stranger, but a stranger nevertheless.

He did his best to put his indifference back, to be aloof once again but his gaze contradicted his efforts as it slowly surveyed the Gabriella's room.

It was small . . . _no surprise there_. But like the entire apartment, it was neat and orderly. The bed was narrow but pristine and he knew smelled faintly of roses. The light feminine scent had actually lulled him to sleep last night. It was covered in a plain white sheet that did not get rumpled even when he had slept on it. He won't delve on how that happened to be so and simply chalk it up to another one of Gabriella's delightful quirks at orderliness.

There was a tall closet made of light wood propped against the far wall, one futon, and one medium sized window behind it, a small round mirror hung next to the closet, a small study table with a lamp in one corner, and no dressing table. The room, by his knowledge of women's room and by comparison to Sharpay's room, was bare but practical. And instead of an assortment of beauty products, there are books stacked atop the only table in the room.

Upon closer look, unable to stop his curiosity from being satisfied, Troy laughed to discover that although his little savior may act boyish, dress in ill fitting clothes and doesn't have a very positive opinion of her face, she apparently indulges in romance novels with cheesy or provocative titles and a few of the covers displaying gorgeous women in seductive or near naked poses. Now that's quite unexpected but also telling . . . and for some bizarre reason, he felt delighted to know she reads these sorts of books.

Without hesitation, pushed by a sudden elated need to have the last word with Gabriella before he exits her life, he grabbed a pen and writing paper from her desk and wrote a note:

_Dear Miss Montez,_

_You left the jacket. I'm not used to being denied so call me stubborn—you are too, if you must know—but the jacket is yours. It's not payment. Think of it as something to remember me by and like I said, it looks much better on you._

_I did some snooping here. Nice book collection! Sorry that was rude of me but to be honest, I don't regret it because I was pleasantly surprised to discover you're a romantic at heart. But give me a day or two to get used to the idea that my heroic Peter Pan has a thing for suggestive titles and provocative book covers. _

_My eyes have been opened. It seems Peter Pan can't be a kid forever. _

_In a few weeks, you can expect a package from me. I'll scour every bookstore in L.A. for those kinds of titles and covers. And, no, Gabriella, you cannot return it. _

_Thank you for saving me and for convincing your aunt to let me stay. Don't let anyone change you._

_Your stray,_

_Troy Bolton. _

Grinning, he folded the paper and slipped it between the pages of the topmost book on the stack. How unconventional of him to write a letter. He's never written one before but surprisingly, in this instance he doesn't mind. His spirits lifted a bit at the thought of Gabriella reading his letter.

He wished he could see her reaction though.

* * * * * *

"How are you, baby girl?" Lucien Montez, a tall man in his mid forties with handsome features still evident despite the years spent in penitentiary, whispered gruffly as he enclosed his beloved daughter in a hug. Like every other Saturday since his confinement when she comes to visit, his eyes become misted and his chest would tighten with a wealth of regret . . . but in a way, to a man sentenced to life imprisonment for inadvertently killing his wife out of blind rage, he still had plenty to be thankful for.

Amidst the turmoil in his life, his daughter understood him better than his late wife did. She could lift his spirits with her smiles. She loves him unconditionally. And she forgave him even when no one else did, even when he couldn't forgive himself.

Of late, he lives his days in the dreary conditions of the state penitentiary not complaining, doing his best to treat the distasteful situation as a passing inconvenience and looking forward to every Saturday when he could spend a few hours with his daughter. She's like a reprieve from his burdens, a light at the end of the tunnel.

If his late wife became his yoke, his despair, Gabriella is his miracle. His saving grace.

Gabriella hugged her father around the waist, and pressed her cheek against the starched texture of his prison clothes. The tightness of their prolonged embrace spoke of their affection, their longing for each other and many other things that words could hardly convey. She sought in his embrace the warmth of the love only a father can give to a daughter while Lucien, until now, apart from the outpouring of emotion, silently begs for her forgiveness even though she told him long ago that all was forgiven and forgotten.

"I gained two pounds, Papa." She conveyed with a laugh when they pulled away and she sat beside him on the long bench, resting her head on his shoulder. This was how their talk usually began . . . with mundane topics.

"You imp." With a grin, Lucien rumpled her soft curls affectionately while he draped an arm over her slim shoulders, pulling her close. "Thin as a reed, I'd say. A strong wind will surely carry you off into the air. Eat like Jason or Chad and you'll fill out nicely."

"Jason and Chad!" She snorted, her nose wrinkling. "Those two eat like ravenous bulls. Nicely won't be the word, Papa, if I eat like them . . . chubby would be the result."

"Nonesense. You'll burn your food easily. You're an active girl."

"I'll need to be extra active if I eat like them."

Lucien pulled back a little to scrutinize his daughter's face, a suspicious grin tugged on his lips. "Wait a minute . . ." He raised a brow. "you're doing this on purpose for some boy, aren't you?"

"Doing what on purpose?" She asked, deliberately misleading the query.

"Dieting." He obliged but chucked her under the chin and gave her a look that says he's not about to be misled by her.

She rolled her eyes and burst out laughing. "The pretty girls in East High use that word more often than I can count. They're obsessed their calorie intake." She slipped both arms around Lucien's waist and pressed herself close while he put his arm back across her shoulders. "The word is foreign to me."

"These pretty girls you talk about don't happen to be the ones in the group picture you showed me last week?"

"Yes, most of them."

"Those aren't pretty." He grunted. "They're trying hard to look pretty though. You're the pretty one."

"Papa, you realize your opinion is biased—" She lifted her head and quirked a delicate brow at him. "You're my dad . . . you're expected to say I'm pretty."

Laughing, Lucien averted answering and instead kept a steady stream of queries about his sister Lucille and the two boys she adopted and likewise, Gabriella is more than willing to impart information about them. She regaled him about Chad and Jason's week—the often hilarious situation they fall in, the mischief they did, how they're doing in school, the girls they were associated with for the current week and other trivial things—which, like always, had Lucien laughing. Then she would tell him next about Lucille.

"Chad's been practicing hard with the team. He's getting along real well with the Red Hawks."

"He's got the skill, baby girl, and he's dedicated, determined as hell too. He'll go far, I'm sure."

"I'm tutoring Jason in Calculus and French. He's trying to impress some girl in French class. So far he hasn't a clue about Calculus and only mastered the French words '_oui_' and '_cherie_'."

"That's two words at least. Give it another year and he'll master two words more." Lucien laughingly joked while Gabriella erupted in giggles. "That boy only thinks of girls, doesn't he? He needs to rub off some of that thinking to Chad. You never tell me about his interest in any girl."

"Yeah . . . now that you mention it, it is kinda odd that Chad hasn't mentioned any girl of late." Gabriella pondered suddenly curious and mildly irritated with herself for not realizing it sooner. "I'll pester him tonight about that. I'm sure he's hiding something."

"And Lucille? She came by few days ago, only talked about her work at the center, about you and the boys. Nothing about herself. I'm beginning to think she's doesn't want me privy to her personal life or she's resigned to live out her life as a widow."

"Oh Papa, Aunt Lucille has plenty of admirers . . . but she's very adept at rebuffing them." She expressed with a sad note. "I don't know why she does it. Once when I was in the center, I met a few of her admirers and they seem like pretty decent fellows. I think there was even a doctor who was quite persistent but . . ." Shrugging, she looked to Lucien with a bewildered expression.

"Maybe she's not ready yet. Her experience with Gary wasn't exactly easy." Lucien said. Gary was Lucille's husband who died of cancer five years ago and the man is never an easy topic for any of them especially on Lucille. "She looks happy though, doesn't she?"

"Yes." Gabriella understood her father's apprehension for Lucille. The time she had with Gary was not only a financial trial but an emotional one as well. She of all people knows that Lucille deserves every biy of happiness she can get. "Chad even said she looks content. You don't have to worry about anything, Papa. We take good care of each other. I'm more worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm fine." He stated firmly. "I'm on kitchen duty so it's easy."

"That's good . . ." She avowed, approval in her eyes. "I wouldn't want you getting into a fight with anyone here."

"I strive to be in good terms with everyone here. It's wiser and safer that way."

Well assured, Gabriella continued relaying to Lucien. He was absorbed by her stories, feeling as if he's also a part of it. "It's a miracle that poor kitten didn't die after lodging inside Jason's shoes. God, the smell of those shoes will make your eyes sting and water! It's so horrible, Papa. It made Aunt Lucille rant and you know how she is . . . never flares up, always cool and calm."

"I'd say it's normal for boys to have stinky feet especially after a game." It's been obvious to Lucien even during the first couple of years in confinement that Gabriella spoke of Lucille and the two boys with affection and equally evident was that Gabriella is happy with her life . . . which is what Lucien really wants to know every time he asks his daughter of the week that passed. It was important to him that she's not deprived of life's simple joys and he's forever thankful that for once in his life he made the right decision to leave Gabriella under Lucille's care.

"As expected, you'd side with Jason on this." She said with a tone of exaggerated disappointment coupled with a dramatic shake of her head. "How utterly male of you, Papa. I bet your feet reeked as much when you were younger."

"I wouldn't know." Lucien replied coolly, enjoying himself immensely with their bantering. "I haven't smelled Jason shoes yet so I can't compare."

Gabriella pinched his arm, making him jump from the bench. "Ugh! Guys!" She groaned.

He dismissed that with a cluck of his tongue then laughed heartily at her disgruntled face. When their hilarity passed, he pressed on the subject he was more curious about. "So there's no boy?"

That gave Gabriella a pause and suddenly Troy's handsome face flashed before her. "No boy." Gabriella answered with a soft sigh. On the way here, she did her best to push him out of her thoughts but it wasn't as easy as she hoped. She thought conversing with her father would take her mind off of Troy and for awhile it did, only to be brought back again by her father's probing. It's not that she didn't want to tell him about the incident with Troy . . . just not now. Probably next week she'll tell him, when she's no longer disconcerted about the guy.

Lucien remained silent for a few seconds trying to see Gabriella's expression but she tucked her head under his chin to avoid his gaze. "Enough about that . . ." He relented bidding his time when she'd tell him what the wistful look was about. "I'd like to hear about your week. How's the play coming along? Kelsi's working everybody good?"

She wondered if Troy is still in the apartment. _Nah, he'd be gone by now. What reason would there be for him to linger in their cramped apartment?_ "I'm having a blast playing Peter Pan. I get to fly around the stage . . ." She broke away from the embrace and dug inside her bag for the pictures she brought for Lucien to see. She always brings pictures for him. "Kelsi took pictures . . ." She said smiling gaily and pointed on the first photo. "Look, that's me in my costume!"

"You should've worn you're costume today." Lucien took hold of the pictures and smiled. "Imagine getting a visit from Peter Pan."

"It's a silly costume, Papa." Though she didn't want to, Gabriella's thoughts kept straying. Did Troy at least eat breakfast before he left? Was he in a hurry? Where will he go? "Quite embarrassing to wear in public, believe me, I know. I wore it yesterday and got mistaken for a boy." She was talking absently now, her thoughts more on Troy than on the conversation at hand. "Even got wounded and bruised because of it."

Lucien was alarmed, leaned away from her to better see her face. "What?!"

Gabriella realized her folly and inwardly groaned. So much for waiting till next week. She hadn't meant to tell her father that unfortunate incident yet because she knows he'll worry and she was still unsettled about Troy, damn it!

Sighing, she reluctantly told him what happened in the alley where she first met Troy, careful to leave out the few details about her costume being ripped to keep him from getting alarmed unnecessarily, and eventually how Troy ended up staying in the apartment and since she's never really hidden anything from her father, she also told him about the few hours she spent talking to him last night in her room.

Lucien was silent for a few minutes as if trying to absorb the details and when he spoke, his tone was a low, "That's quite a story."

"It happened." She flatly said.

"I'm not saying it didn't." He assured, seeing the frown on Gabriella's features. "Where is this boy now?"

She shrugged, sighing as though weary. "I'm sure he left already . . . to wherever he's going."

"Too bad for him."

She straightened beside him and eyed him skeptically. "Why is that?"

"Because he lost his chance to get to know you . . ." He replied in a matter-of-fact tone that Gabriella couldn't be sure if he was serious or merely playing her again. "and it seems to me based on what you told me about your talk last night with him, given the choice, he'd want to know you better."

She shook her head to argue his opinion. "He's rich, Papa, and good looking . . . very handsome." She emphasized as if that settles her point. "There's no reason for him to want to get to know me. What could he possibly find interesting in me? If I have to compare him to the heroes in the books I read, he'd be the handsome, rich, titled aristocrat while I'm the plain, poor country mouse. It's beauty and the beast gender reversed."

"Where did you get this maggot in your head that tells you you're not pretty? You are very pretty and I don't want you thinking otherwise."

"If you say so . . . then pretty it is." She forced a smile on her lips that looked pained rather than radiant.

To Gabriella's consternation, her father laughed at that making her flush in inexplicable embarrassment. Then he said all too knowingly, "But you have to admit . . . handsome lord falling for a _pretty_ country mouse, though overused and cheesy, make for a good romance novel and you're a sucker for stories like that."

"Well," She huffed, annoyed that she's even broaching the subject of romance alongside her mention of Troy. "this is real life. Romance like that happens only in paper . . . and this talk in entirely ridiculous. We're talking about a total stranger here, Papa, who by the way is already gone and will never be seen again."

"You're probably right." Lucien said, controlling the urge to smile at Gabriella's flushed face. "But sometimes, baby girl, real life can pull off a few surprises."

"I hate surprises." Gabriella muttered and dug her face under her father's chin, telling him with her silence to quit the topic.

_I know._ Lucien sighed and drew her back into his embrace. He knows all too well how Gabriella hates surprises. She vehemently announced her hatred for surprises the day she saw her mother die and she realized Lucien was the one who killed her.

* * * * * *

By mid morning, Kelsi was waiting for her at the bus stop and before Gabriella could recover from her surprise or ask any questions, she was already explaining that they needed to go to East High as per Miss Darbus' request. Apparently, the props to be used for the play got wrecked, when last night the backdrop that was set up on the stage toppled over and crashed damaging the other prop pieces. Every hand was needed to repair or make new ones. Gabriella made no protest about helping. There was nothing to do in the apartment anyway and for some reason she didn't want to go home yet. Also, she wanted to get her backpack she left last night.

"Yeah . . . and speaking of damages," Gabriella thought it best to tell Kelsi of the torn costume since they're dealing with ruined props anyway. Kelsi threw her a wary sideways glance as they stepped up the steps of East High.

"What?" Kelsi asked in a voice that says she'd rather not hear what she has to say.

"My costume—the shirt, the belt and the sword and the hat too—" Gabriella bit her lip. Kelsi groaned and pressed a palm to her forehead. "It's gone."

Stopping in her tracks along the rows of lockers, Kelsi faced Gabriella. "What do you mean by _gone_? What did you do with it?"

"I had a little accident last night when I went home."

"What kind of accident? Is it your brothers?"

"No, no, not them." Gabriella waved her hands between them and clarified. "Muggers. I had an unfortunate encounter with muggers."

Kelsi raised a dubious brow. "Muggers? You were mugged?"

The skepticism didn't surprise nor offend Gabriella in the least. She's lived in the same area for more than seven years. Everyone knows her and her brothers. And no thug in their right mind would mug someone ther're familiar with or someone in the area. "Not me." She paused, considering how much to tell Kelsi and if her friend would actually believe her. Sighing resignedly, she made herself go on. "Someone else was mugged. He wasn't from around here and I sort of . . . assisted the guy with the muggers."

"Sort of assisted? Will you just tell me straight what happened?"

"I just did. They were about to stab him. The sword and the belt were used on the muggers. Hit them with the sword. Knocked one out. The belt was used to tie their arms and legs."

"Okay . . ." Kelsi said with a drawn out pause as if trying to decide to believe her tale or not. "I can imagine that but what about the shirt? My imagination doesn't stretch that far and even if it did, I don't like what I'm imagining you did with that shirt because it means you walked home shirtless."

"I'm not making this up, Kelsi." Gabriella said, running a hand through her unruly curls, not missing the subtle hint that Kelsi thinks the tale is a work of her imagination. "The shirt got ripped and I got this—" She lifted her t-shirt to show the bandage and the ugly bruising on her torso which made her friend gasp out loud as she finished on a dry note. "—a souvenir from one of the muggers."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry . . ."

Tugging the shirt down, Gabriella smiled lopsidedly at Kelsi's wide eyed stare behind her glasses. No doubt there now. "Yeah, well . . . I'll remedy my own costume. Don't tell Darbus."

But Kelsi was no longer interested in the costume. "What happened to the person . . . you said it's a he . . . this guy you helped with the muggers?"

Gabriella expelled a breath, deciding to just get it over with and tell Kelsi what transpired last night then not speak about it ever again. "Okay, I will only tell this once so listen well . . ." Kelsi didn't need to be reminded twice. With rapt attention, she stood while Gabriella narrated her story in a voice that she strived to be casual as if the events last night and the person she helped was nothing out of the ordinary.

When she finished, Kelsi was speechless and her mouth was hanging open like she was trying to find the words to say. But before she could even think of it, Gabriella grabbed her hand and pulled her along the hallway heading for the auditorium. "Now let's go. Darbus will be in fit if we don't hurry."

The rest of the day was spent making the necessary repairs of the damaged set and the smaller props. Almost everyone involved in the play was there helping to right the damage. Kelsi, like everyone else, was kept busy under Miss Darbus' watchful eye and was given no opportunity to ask Gabriella anything about what she told her, which suited Gabriella just fine. She doesn't want to talk about Troy anymore. She doesn't want to keep thinking about him either so she busied herself in the corner where most of the costumes were kept, digging through piles of clothing to find one to replace the ripped shirt.

Thankfully, she found a heavy bolt of green cloth that was often used as a drape or a curtain and with some help from Martha, they were able to sew a new Peter Pan shirt same as the other that got ripped. The hat, the belt and the wooden sword were remedied just as easily and before long she was being strapped to the harness to test, at Miss Darbus orders, if everything on the stage is working properly.

"How's that?" Josh Foley asked, adjusting the tightness of the straps around her waist. "Too tight?"

"Nope." Gabriella quipped. "I'm more worried about that pulley up there." She pointed to the beams hanging high up overhead where the small wheel contraption aiding with the movement of the ropes are attached. "It might not hold my weight once I start swinging."

"It'll hold like before. There's no problem with the rope or the beams." Assured Josh flashing her a grin. He looked up at Emmett Benson, a stocky junior who was in charge of controlling the ropes, keeping it steady while Gabriella is in the air, and gave him a thumb up sign. "Pull her up, Benson!"

"Emmett, if anything happens to me, I'll kill you." Gabriella called out, showing him a fisted hand in mock warning. "There should be two of you up there."

"Martin is sick." Emmett shouted back and then gave a mighty tug on the ropes, lifting Gabriella off the stage floor higher and higher. "Relax, Montez."

And so it began, the swinging she enjoyed so much even with Miss Darbus rapping out commands from the front row to where Gabriella should direct her swing next. All corners of the stage was covered to see the freedom of movement while flying in the air and since Peter Pan was a playful sort, Miss Darbus and the rest of the students called out suggestions for her to try different styles of _flying_ . . . "_on your back, arm behind your head . . . sideways . . . wave your arms . . . somersault . . . twisting while flying . . ."_

Soon enough everyone was laughing as Gabriella obliged their shouted suggestions without a qualm and even doing some of her own ideas for whimsical sort of flying. None realized that although Emmett was a burly guy and weighs several pounds heavier than Gabriella, he would naturally tire of holding the rope secure while keeping a moving Gabriella at a specific height. More minutes passed and sweat broke from his brow, he was ready to let go of the rope which now stung his palms.

"Miss Darbus, I'm tying the rope!" He shouted loudly amidst the din the others were making below.

No one answered him. They were all focused on Gabriella and her stunts. Grunting, he decided to tie the rope than risk it slipping from his grasp. He bent in front of the steel hooks, let go of one and to loop the end through, all the while tugging the rope steady from the constant jerks of movement caused by Gabriella's stunts. It was a strain on his arm and when one of the students suggested Gabriella do a cartwheel, Emmett's one hand grasp on the rope faltered and before he knew it, the rope slid quickly out of his hold.

"Gabriella! The rope!" He shouted, bending over the railing in a futile attempt to reach the end of the falling rope. "Catch her! Catch her!"

Loud shrieks and shouts and screams made Kelsi look up from the piano in confusion and then from the corner her eye she saw someone sprinting from the row of chairs, jumping up the piano and unto the stage like a flaunty display of amazing agility that should be shown on a track field rather than an auditorium. She was agog and so was everyone else as the frantic screams slowly died down to witness the sudden spectacle.

"Please catch me!" Gabriella screamed, her heart beat echoing loudly in her ears, her body flailing like a helpless rag doll, the heavy rope tangling with her legs. She closed her eyes as the momentum of her drop hastened, bracing for the horrible pain and hoping she won't break any important bone in her body.

But instead of a crash, she heard an oomph sound. Instead of the hard floor, she felt strong arms secure her weight. Instead of pain, she was pressed against someone's warm, solid chest and she heard a rather loud collective sigh of relief from the other people present. Slowly, she opened one eye and the other as she heaved great gulps of air into her lungs. "Thank God . . ." She breathed heavily, her hands hanging lifeless on her sides from the scare of it all. "thought I'm a goner . . . you caught me . . ." She looked up to him, a ready gratitude on her lips which was instantly forgotten when she recognized his face.

Her vision must have been addled by the sudden drop but it was him and he's smiling at her like it's the most common thing in the world. "Oh no." She moaned, closing her eyes again, feeling a slight tremor course through her body. "My eyesight got impaired. I'm seeing things."

"Getting into trouble a daily habit for you, Miss Montez?"

"Troy?" She opened her eyes, thoroughly confused, her voice squeaky, the teasing question sailing over her head. "Are you really . . . _you_?"

He nodded and gave off a low laugh. "In the flesh."

"What—are you . . . oh God, Troy, you caught me!"

His blue eyes gazed intently at her and a charming smile wreathed his handsome face. "Yes, I did." He said, mirth evident in his voice at her shocked reaction and disoriented state of mind as he kept a firm and steady hold of her in his arms. He looked briefly away from her to their gaping audience and grinned even more. "And it seems I'm the only one with the good sense to catch you."

A scene from a romantic novel she read chose that moment to be remembered by her muddled head. The handsome lord was just in time to cach the lady when she accidentally fell off the steps. She was thankful, _very very thankful_ . . . Gabriella groaned and with an effort threw an arm over her eyes. "I'm losing my head!"

* * * * * *


	5. Chapter 5 Stay

Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

Of their stunned, gawking audience, Troy saw from the corner of his eye, a dark haired girl with glasses was the first to recover and hurriedly approached Gabriella as he was setting her down on her feet. "Are you all right? Are you in pain?" She asked, worry etched on her face as she hastily untangled the ropes and unstrapped the harness from Gabriella with Troy's assistance.

_Friend._ Troy instantly assumed. _Close friend._ The concern on the girl's face was did not look contrived and she was actually paying attention to Gabriella than him, which could not be said of the other people around them who were openly gaping at him, more curious—he's fairly certain—of who he is than of Gabriella's recent plight.

At least another person is concerned for Gabriella, which should be the only concern right now if he has any say in it. He came in the auditorium still unsettled after his trip to the cash machine and actually felt a burst of terror when he saw Gabriella hanging from that contraption—a feeling so foreign to him and doesn't want to feel again, a feeling that obliterated everything else—then in the next second screaming and falling down and there was no one doing or attempting to do anything to break her fall. Everyone was frozen, except for him. He acted out of instinct and the strong drive to keep her from plunging into serious physical injury which he's quite sure could've been permanently damaging in so many ways was what made him spring in action. She'd endured the beating of that accursed mugger already and he'd be damned if he sees her hurt again.

For her sake, he had been smiling, playing it cool when he caught her but he was so relieved that his timing was right and he was able to catch her out of harm's way. He's sure his heart was thudding just as fast as hers.

"Yes and no." Gabriella gave a reassuring smile and lightly squeezed her friend's arm, a silent thanks for her concern.

"But your bruises from yesterday . . . they must hurt . . ."

"She took pain killers." Troy drew Kelsi's attention to him although he didn't seem to care that one more astonished eye was looking at him and without taking his gaze away from Gabriella, he added in a tone that would become admonishing if she answered other than what he expected. "Didn't you, Gabriella? Doctor's orders, remember?"

Shaking her head, Gabriella gave him a look of confusion, when normally she would have been annoyed at his tone. The fall had her trembling slightly and Troy's unexplained presence isn't helping her bearings one whit to get in order. "You have that wrong. Doctor said it's to be taken at my discretion." She informed him, grappling to steady herself. God, it feels like she's ready to swoon. "That isn't . . ." She shook her head again, determined to clear it then asked, "Why are you here?"

Troy chose to ignore the question for the moment. He owes her an explanation but that will be said when she's had her senses properly in line and without an audience who at the moment are already closing in on them at the stage. "Tell me you took it then. I'm pretty sure you were in pain this morning."

"Obviously, I took it. After all these," She made a wide gesture with her trembling hand. "I feel numb as it is."

"You're shaking." He pointed out, though it was fairly obvious. He was annoyed by whoever is responsible for her fall but was careful not to show it. He doesn't know these people. And for his peace of mind, he'll assume it was an accident. "Take deep breaths. You're gonna be okay."

"And I'm very grateful that you caught me but don't evade the question, Troy." She persisted, showing the same stubborn streak he'd come to recognize on their first meeting. "Why are you here? You're supposed to be—"

"Gone." He provided with a wan smile, pressing a warm hand to her back and stroking it up and down the length of it, a motion meant to calm her. "I thought I'd be gone too."

"Exactly." She took a deep steadying breath as if to rid the tiny shudders from her body, briefly giving in to the soothing strokes of Troy's hand, then once she felt the tremors receding, faced him squarely. "What happened?"

"Long story."

She didn't want excuses. "I happen to love stories."

"I know." He chuckled, remembering the books in her room. With the weight of his dilemma, Troy had no business feeling amused but here he was grinning at the thought and further bewildering her. "My story isn't like the ones you're fond of reading though."

She frowned at that, wondering what he meant but she insisted regardless. Something must have happened, she knows this without needing confirmation, or else he wouldn't be standing before her right now. "Explain it then and make it simple. My head is still a bit muddled."

Jason suddenly stood beside her and startled both her and Kelsi but not Troy. "He'll explain, Gabster. But not here. It's damn wonderful that he's here though, otherwise it would've been a nasty, nasty fall." He bore concerned eyes at her, searching her pale features. "You all right, sis?"

"Yes . . . I think."

"Wonderful?" Kelsi echoed dumbly, lost in the conversation, her eyes darting on each their faces.

"You—" The last place in East High her brother would dare to enter is the auditorium. The few times he was there, he was either coerced or threatened and even then he'd done so with a disgusted demeanor he does not bother to hide, telling one and all that he doesn't care for theater, drama and weird costumes. Seeing Jason, unaccountably cheerful and surprisingly at ease in the place he hates to be in, Gabriella knew at once that Troy's presence there is because of him. "You brought him here . . . why?"

"Gabriella," Troy said, the hand stroking her back slid to her elbow and gently squeezed. "I wasn't—"

"Explanations later. But rest assured I didn't force him out of his plans or anything." Jason interrupted, his eyes darting swiftly to the other students who were making their way to them. "Let's take you home. I already told Darbus we're leaving."

Ignoring Jason, Kelsi looked from Gabriella to Troy, paused long enough to study the stranger who daringly caught her friend and after a time, emitted a shocked gasp as if she couldn't believe what she's seeing and adding to that is the way the stranger talked to Gabriella like he appointed himself her friend's keeper. She turned back to Gabriella, eyes glinting with surprise and a pleasant understanding of who the stranger is, a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Is he—"

"He is." Gabriella murmured loud enough for Kelsi to hear while the rest of the students began talking all at once around them, converging on the handsome stranger—the guys were curious and reluctantly impressed of Troy, the girls were flirting with Troy, eager to make his acquaintance, noticing the appealing, more compelling aura of him that could not be said about the guys they usually hang with. He was of a different breed and they know it—and Miss Darbus questioning Jason why he's there with unknown company.

Kelsi urged on despite the swirling of voices around them, her gaze fixed on Gabriella. "Shouldn't he—"

She understood at once, nodding. "He should." Then she muttered something to the three girls who stepped close to her, asking if she was all right and before she could even reply properly, asked for an introduction to Troy, which she quickly did since its quite obvious it's what they're more interested in.

Kelsi maintained the conversation with her despite the interruptions. "But he's—"

Likewise, it wasn't a problem for Gabriella to hold on to the same disjointed exchange with Kelsi. "I know."

"Do you—"

She shook her head slowly. "I don't." Then she complied with another . . . and another request for introduction to the handsome stranger who rescued her.

"I see."

Gabriella sighed and feeling suddenly irritated to be in the center of a crowd, she pushed her way out and stood next to Kelsi a little to the left of the gathered bodies around Troy, just as Emmett rushed his way to her with a deeply apologetic look on his face. Before he could say anything, Gabriella glared at him and Kelsi slapped him hard on the arm.

"Gabriella, I'm sorry." He rasped wincing at Kelsi's whack but didn't complain, instead he clasped both of Gabriella's hands in his, and gently squeezing as though willing her to believe how sorry he is and that his incompetence in handling the ropes wasn't deliberate nor a prank of some kind. "You aren't heavy and I was confident I could hold your weight but . . ."

"Miss D told you to get someone to assist you since Martin isn't here." Kelsi reminded, admonishing. "God, Emmett! If she was injured . . ."

"I could cheerfully strangle you right now, Emmett." Gabriella muttered but there was no anger in her tone. It was an error in judgment and Emmett readily took responsibility instead of blaming another or something else. But she was still irritated with him for the fright she went through.

"You can harm me all you like, Gabs." If Emmett didn't look very serious, Gabriella would have laughed at his sincere eagerness to be harmed but she kept it contained. Let him simmer in guilt for awhile as retribution. "I won't balk."

"Let me think of ways." She said, then turning to Kelsi glaring at Emmett, she grinned, "Any suggestions, Kels?"

"Short of murder, you mean?" Kelsi retorted caustically, eyes never leaving Emmett. "One or two."

"Your brothers will most likely kill me for this, especially Chad and I'm still waiting for a stinging lecture and maybe a detention from Darbus for this mishap." Emmett dropped her hands and wrapped his arms around her instead, hugging her protectively, repeatedly expressing his remorse, his stupidity, apologizing and promising to wait for the harm she could think of to inflict on his person. "Gabs, I'm really, really sorry."

"I forgive you." Gabriella said on a sigh, taking pity on the guy. It wasn't done on purpose after all and Emmett was a decent enough person to admit his fault and ask for forgiveness for it. Trapped within the circle of his arms, she awkwardly tapped Emmett's broad back. "You're in deep shit enough as it is. But I'm afraid I'll pass being strapped into that thing for awhile."

Emmett tightened his embrace. "You're an angel, Gabs. I should also thank that guy who caught you. I'd never forgive myself if you were hurt."

"Benson, let go of my sister." Jason interrupted breaking away from the group of gaggling students, darted a quick look at Miss Darbus to see if she was within hearing distance then hissed, "What the _fuck_ were you thinking? You're far from being Hercules, man!" He was clearly angry which very rarely happens to Jason so Emmett promptly and wisely dropped his arms from Gabriella. "Seeing my sister fall is not something I'd like to see ever again, Benson. That scared the living daylights out of me."

"Jason, believe it or not, when the rope slipped from my grasp, I wanted to jump off the railing to save Gabriella. Take the fall. Protect her from the impact . . ."

"Gabriella," Troy's voice suddenly drawled so close to her ear and almost made her jump. "you haven't introduced me to your friends yet." He tipped his head toward Emmett who was fervently explaining himself to Jason and barely noticed Troy.

She thought he was still with the rest of her theater buddies, indulging in their attention. "I—" She began but noticed the slight scowl on his face as though he's displeased with something.

"No, she hasn't. She's a bit confused and woozy as you can see. Anyone would be after that fall." Kelsi cut in by way of explanation, smiling brightly, drawing his attention, hand extended at Troy. "Hi, I'm Kelsi!"

Clasping the small hand, he returned the girl's pleasant demeanor with one of his own, for the meantime setting aside his unreasonable irritation for the guy who hugged Gabriella. He liked this Kelsi, he decided, and she's obviously a friend to Gabriella. "Nice to meet you Kelsi. I'm Troy."

"Likewise Troy." Behind her glasses, she leveled intelligent eyes at him but her tone remained deceptively innocent and overly cheerful. "I'm Gabriella's friend. Are you her friend too?"

"Kelsi!" Gabriella tugged her hand but to no avail. Kelsi was determined to know the stranger.

Troy grinned, recognizing the cleverness behind the harmless question. Kelsi was trying to know or trying to confirm her suspicions about who he is but she's doing it in a way that was both smart and none irritating unlike the others that mobbed him. "I'm more like her stray."

"You're not my stray." Gabriella objected straight away. "He's a friend, Kelsi."

Kelsi quirked a brow and a tiny hint of a smirk curved her lips. "Stray or not . . . it's your turn to save Gabriella, it seems."

"She told you the unfortunate incident last night?"

Kelsi's smile told Troy she knows what the unspoken question he was really asking—s_he didn't tell you my name?_ She answered the unspoken one. "She told me what happened—the unfortunate mugging—but referred to you in generic terms as '_he_' and '_the guy_'." She made air quotes for emphasis. "No name was mentioned, I'm afraid."

With a cool nod and quick smile at Kelsi, he turned to Gabriella and raised a brow at her. "You didn't tell your friend about me."

For some reason, his mildly scolding tone and the unusual glint in his blue eyes made Gabriella blush like pink roses in bloom. But she lifted her chin and met his look unabashed. "No specific details. I didn't think it was necessary to mention—"

"Of course you should've mentioned him."

"Kelsi, stop this! I know what you're doing."

"I didn't realize I'm that forgettable. It's only been a few hours and last night we even talked before going to bed." Troy stated, a somewhat offended look on his face. He'd meant to be teasing but within seconds he realized he felt upset for real that she wouldn't tell her friend about him. "Other people I've met remember me quite easily even years later."

The mention of _bed_ perked Kelsi's interest further and she threw Gabriella a _this-is-something-you-tell-your-friend_ look before asking Troy. "You stayed with them last night?"

"Yes. In her room." He replied but kept his eyes on Gabriella's bent head and, whether he was aware or not, his hands rested idly on the small of her back.

"How was it?" It sounded like a casual inquiry but the way Kelsi was looking at Gabriella and Troy and that hand of his comfortably settled on her back—which her friend doesn't seem to mind or she doesn't realize is there—made it obvious to anyone that her curiosity is at its peak and she was partly gauging everything based on what she sees.

"It was quite cozy . . . her room."

"Indeed. I'll take your word for it." Kelsi said and she sounded like someone who was practicing a lesson in diction and phonics.

Gabriella didn't think it was possible but she blushed even more._ Forgettable? God, since this morning she's been trying hard not to think of him!_ She felt suddenly embarrassed for unwittingly offending Troy with an untruth and because Kelsi was having a jolly time with what she's discovering of last night's events and steering away the issue at hand of Troy being there. "You're not forgettable, Troy." She admitted, for a split second closing her eyes to compose herself. "I didn't think I should mention you when ours was just a very brief acquaintance. I didn't think you'd be here today—catching my fall—although I'm thankful because you saved me. I thought you'd have gone off already . . . we both know you shouldn't be here."

"You're right. I didn't think I'd be here too but I am here." He said, gently lifting her chin with his forefinger and thumb so that she was looking at him. "Are you so disappointed to see me?"

As soon as their eyes met, Gabriella realized he was teasing her. He was grinning widely, exuding boyish charm and playfulness, and Kelsi looked like she was ready to laugh at her gullibility and there was a knowing gleam in her eyes that jolted Gabriella's brain. Mentally shaking herself, she averred crisply, "I'm disappointed that you're not telling me why you're here."

"Once we get back to the apartment, I will tell you . . . and your aunt."

"Good!" Kelsi exclaimed. "That settles it then."

"For now." Gabriella conceded albeit reluctantly and frowned Kelsi's unnatural exuberance into silence. The mention of her aunt means that serious matters needed to be explained and discussed. It also seemed a futile effort to persist in asking when Troy showed no signs of indulging her curiosity of his presence, instead she launched to tell him a few things about her suddenly talkative friend. "Kelsi's president of the drama club here in East High, Troy. She's great with music . . . arranging, composing, scoring . . . you name it, she can do it. She'll be attending Julliard when we graduate."

"That's quite an accomplishment, Kelsi." Troy inclined his head at her friend who took it with a gracious nod and a bright smile. "I'm impressed. I have a cousin who has the same passion as you. He's attending Julliard currently." His head jerked toward Emmett who was still talking to a not so happy Jason. "And this guy you hugged? Who is he?" The question was spoken straight to Gabriella as he turned, without pause, as if he wasn't talking to Kelsi at all.

"He's Emmett." Kelsi jumped in once more in a suspiciously cheery voice. "He's the one holding the ropes attached to Gabriella and she didn't hug him, it's the other way around."

"That's Emmett." Gabriella said, shooting Kelsi a quelling glance.

"I see." Troy muttered. He couldn't help throwing an angry look at Emmett. The guy was irresponsible and stupid for endangering Gabriella. Who was he to play with another person's safety like that?

"Do you really?" Kelsi innocently challenged.

"No. Not really." He retorted. "But it doesn't matter what I see or don't. He was careless! Gabriella could've been seriously hurt."

"But she wasn't." Kelsi pointed out, smiling. "Thanks to you."

"I wasn't hurt." Gabriella repeated, laying a hand on his arm. "You saved me, Troy."

He expelled a breath, anger dissipating. "But I still owe you an explanation."

"Yes, Troy, you do."

* * * * * *

For the second time in his life, Troy found himself in a position where he was trying to appeal to the kindness of strangers. It was a precarious position to be in for someone who's not used to asking for favors and one he doesn't particularly relish doing but what choice does he have? Beggars can't be choosers. And right now, he feels like a beggar sitting in the living room of this tiny apartment with Gabriella, Jason, Lucille and even Kelsi—who insisted on coming with them—telling them of his problem, hoping at the back of his mind that they would help him.

This morning his mind was set, his plans were ready to be carried out, then everything was stunted because he failed to anticipate one minor but important detail. Money.

Money makes the world go round and he believes that wholeheartedly, more so in his current situation because without money he won't be going anywhere. He doesn't even have a credit card or his mobile phone where all of his contacts are. He can't call Sharpay or anyone else to fish him out of Albuquerque.

"What do you mean you can't get any money?" Gabriella asked after he finished telling them that what should have been his available cash from his bank account, cash he intended on withdrawing this morning to use for his escape to L.A. and to buy other necessities, was now frozen—restricted, unavailable, or whatever else you may call it—for withdrawal, no doubt per his father's instruction to the bank.

"I think he means, without the money he should have had access to, he's penniless." Kelsi said matter of factly.

"I know what he means." Gabriella ran a hand through her mussed up curls, and is slowly realizing the implications of what Troy just told them. Although, she could not get her mind to grasp the enormity of his situation yet because somehow it's unbelievable to her. When she had been thinking of him earlier, her thoughts did not stretch so far along this possibility. "Do you have any money on you right now?"

"I have some cash left but it won't suffice." He uttered, his face intentionally blank, his tone detached. He looks like someone who's talking about the weather and is bored by it. When in truth, he was in a bit of a disbelief that this is really happening to him. He's never in need of money. Ever. Money has always been accessible whenever needed. "Jason offered to accompany me this morning to the nearest cash machine but when I tried to withdraw, it was too late, my funds were already restricted."

"So I offered to take him back with me, until he could think of something . . . figure things out." Jason piped in after clearing his throat and shifting on his seat, cast a swift look at Gabriella. "Went to East High first 'cause he kept asking about you."

Nodding slowly, forcing herself not to think too much of why Troy _kept asking about her_ as Jason said and asked as evenly as she could muster. "Your father did it?"

Troy nodded, a cold anger flashing in his eyes that was quickly masked before any of them could identify and comment on it. "I should have anticipated he'd do something like this. I should have taken out my money yesterday."

"Why would your father withhold money from you?" Kelsi blurted out, frowning and her eyes shot from Troy to Gabriella who were staring at each other and probably talking with their eyes, to Jason who kept silent, and to Lucille who was sitting serenely across from Troy, her face neutral.

Gabriella sighed. She half turned in the sofa to Kelsi and said, "He's not in good terms with his father." She cast a sideways look at Troy and added, "At least I think, he's not."

With his eyes fixed on her ever since he started his explanation and never once strayed to the other occupants in the room, Troy managed a grim smile. "I'm not." He was trying to read her mind, if possible. He could see confusion, surprise—or maybe its shock—and some other expression on Gabriella's face he couldn't identify. Troy knew the moment she comprehended what he wanted from them but he couldn't be sure if she would be agreeable this time around. He needed her support foremost. It was important that she side with him, reason with him and for him, to her aunt because now that his options are nonexistent she's the only one he knows who can convince Lucille to let him stay, until he can figure a way out of his situation.

A lengthy silence hung in the air. Gabriella was at a loss for words as she finally understood what Troy being penniless meant. Kelsi was trying to grasp what she's heard so far. Jason was about to whistle a bawdy tune, remembered where he is, and quickly clamped his lips shut. Lucille stood suddenly and told Troy to follow her.

Troy did with no dithering, taken by surprise by the abrupt command. No one else dared to follow after them.

They went to the kitchen. Lucille by passed the dining table to stand against the kitchen counter next to the sink and crossed her arms over her chest. Her face no longer expressionless. She looked serious. "Take a seat, Troy."

"I'd rather stand, Mrs. Smarth, if you don't mind." He was having doubts. Unlike his father with his explosive temper, he can guess pretty much what's on his mind by the look on his face, Lucille on the other hand has excellent control of her facial expressions which left Troy in an indeterminate state and to be truthful, nervous as well.

"Suit yourself." She said, then gestured to the table. "Brownies?"

"Excuse me, what?"

"Would you like some brownies? I made these earlier." She pushed off from the counter to sweep off the cover of the tray on the table, showing Troy several squares of brownies waiting to be eaten. "My peers tell me I make good brownies."

"Uhh . . . sure." Not wanting to offend, Troy grabbed one from the pile and smiled uneasily. "Thank you." The woman befuddles him. Not many people do and one way or another he's not the type to really take time to bother. This is a unique case, however. Learning from yesterday's encounter with her, Troy is almost certain she's getting somewhere with this unusual behavior. Either the brownie is meant to put him at ease—although he very much doubts if anything can make him at ease—or it is what it is, a simple offering—and if the thing turns out to be good, it's a consolation after she dismisses him and sends him away. Hesitantly, he took a huge bite of the sweet offering because Lucille seems to be waiting for him to taste it.

"Well? Is it good?"

He finished it off and nodded. "It's delicious!" He said and actually meant it. That was probably the best brownie he's ever tasted and considering the tension coiling within him, for his taste buds to recognize the deliciousness of it says a lot. Even his father's personal chef does not make such a scrumptious brownie but now is not the time for a dessert no matter how palatable.

"Get more, if you like." She offered leaving the brownie uncovered then moved back to lean against the counter.

"Mrs. Smarth," Troy began, swallowing the chocolatey goodness to speak, unable to stand through another moment of suspense. He had a feeling Gabriella's aunt is deliberately subjecting him to a waiting torture because she already guessed he had little patience to go by. "I know I'm asking—"

Lucille shook her head, cutting off further speech from him. "I know what you're asking, Troy." She interrupted. "But I'm waiting for you to get around to actually _ask_. Last night, you didn't do that. It was Gabriella who did it for you and when you explained yourself out there you merely implied what you wanted from us. And from the way you kept looking at my niece, you want her to speak for you again."

There was nothing in her tone to hint of anger or aggravation. In fact, Troy would go so far as to say, she looked rather pleasant and amused but he was wise enough not to trust her expression. He was quickly learning that Lucille has impeccable control of her thoughts and feelings from outward display. She's also very accurate in what she said, evidence of her perceptiveness, and he could not come up with anything to say for himself. He didn't think justifying his actions by saying—_I've never asked anything from anyone. Everything is given to me without question_—would win him a glowing opinion from Lucille and a positive outcome of his supplication. So he opted for silence.

Whatever she took his silence for, Troy couldn't say but he was glad she didn't press him for an explanation because he had none, then only to plummet later when she asked, "What has your father done to make you want to get away from him?"

Quickly, he hid his dislike for the query and casually shrugged. "A lot of things." He said vaguely, his tone clinical. "But I hope you'll understand, it's between me and him."

"Perhaps it's not him," Lucille went on as if having not heard him. "But you . . . what _you_ did that makes you want to be free of him, of the consequences, maybe, that he's imposing on you."

"My father—" He began, prepared to say a few words about his father without laying his frustrations out just to placate Lucille's questions. Given that she owns the apartment and he's a stranger who's importuning to stay with them indefinitely, he knows she has rational reasons for interrogating him, but she cut him off.

"Do you drink?" She asked.

Surprised by the sudden turn, Troy answered without thinking. "On occasion and never to an excess. I like to keep control of my head."

"Drugs?"

"Never."

"Jailed?"

"I—" He paused, thinking of the night he spent behind bars in L.A. Then he inwardly cursed himself. That split second of indecision gave Lucille her answer. The woman saw too much to be fooled. It was an admirable trait but right now he can't find anything to admire about it—not if it's sinking his chances of allowing to be lodged here. "It was a misunderstanding. The charges were dropped."

"Uhuh." She murmured and he marveled how that one little sound could relay her skepticism so well. Then she reverted the matter back about his father. "Your father, do you know him well?"

Troy improvised. "I know only what he wants me to know of him."

"So that means you don't know him at all."

He sighed. He was having this conversation whether he likes it or not. Lucille has every right to ask questions. These people maybe poor but unlike what you'd stereotypically expect from others with a similar living condition, they are proud, decent, careful and cultured in their manners—almost as if they're really well-to-do people who have been down on their luck—and for the time being, those are appealing reasons for him to want to stay with them. "He's not a pleasant person to know . . . even for a son." He cobbled together. Then as he heard Lucille make an infinitesimal sound of exasperation at his steady evasiveness regarding his father, Troy realized he was asking too much and expecting just as much from her. In Lucille's shoe, he wouldn't be charitable and he probably would've have denied himself already. At least Lucille is giving him a chance to reveal himself, to give her a reason to trust him. "Endearing isn't a word to describe my father, Mrs. Smarth." He made himself continue. "We've been constantly at odds and I honestly don't remember when our relationship was not strained. I took off because he was controlling my every move and he wanted to send me abroad to finish my studies."

Without commenting on his father's character or his criticizing his own, she asked. "How badly do you think he wants you back, Troy? Bad enough to limit your options?"

"Yes."

"Bad enough to harm the people who will help you?"

Troy straightened. _Does that mean she will say yes?_ Then he recognized the real concern behind the query and answered firmly. "No."

A well shaped brow was raised but all else of Lucille's face remained unreadable. "Are you sure about that, Troy? You just said you don't know him that well. What guarantee do I have that when I let you stay, your father won't harm us to get to you?"

"He won't." He assured with confidence that he's sure she distinguishes. His father maybe controlling, arrogant, difficult to deal with, and some other related adjective but one of the things he's sure about him is that he does not condone violence. Jack prefers battles that require mental sparring than physical. "I know you doubt me—"

"Oh I have many, many doubts about you, Troy." She stressed, speaking slowly as if she were talking to a child. "They're so many I could put them under different headings, state my arguments below each one, and I could even bound them for you—hardcover or paperback—whatever you prefer."

Sarcasm it was, though pleasantly uttered and wisely, Troy did not take the bait. He cannot lose his temper. He should not take offense, he silently reminded himself. "It will be an interesting read, for sure." Briefly, Troy wondered what his father would think of Lucille Smarth. How will Jack react to this pleasant but formidable woman? If ever they are adversaries, he'd be willing to bet his money on Lucille. The thought cheered him a little, untimely it maybe. "I perfectly understand your position, though, Mrs. Smarth. If our roles were reversed, I would have second thoughts about letting me stay as well. It was wrong of me to use Gabriella to intercede on my behalf and I'm sorry for that. The only excuse I have for my actions is desperation and I know it's not a good enough reason for you."

"You're right." She agreed, giving no quarter. "I see desperate people every day, Troy, and be assured, you are not one of them. You look like someone who has always enjoyed exceptionally high expectations in life. Someone whose every annoyance and discomfort, however slight, that had afflicted him is easily dispelled by a large amount of money. And money is anything but a problem for you, until now." She paused, eyes keen on him. "I think, what you are experiencing is a disruption of your smooth, privileged life and for someone like you that's already considered a tragedy."

Lucille was accurate on all counts and he was very sure he never mentioned his background. No one from this family pried him for information either. Did Lucille do a little research on him? Yet, why would she bother? It would've been pointless, unless merely driven by curiosity, to delve into his background when they all know he was supposed to be leaving that morning. To say he was stunned would be an understatement but Troy forced himself to play it cool. He's the one asking a favor but he refuses to relinquish that much power to them. "With your line of work, I don't doubt that, Mrs. Smarth." He smoothly replied and he was proud of the calmness of his tone. "But I'm feeling pretty desperate right now, or at the very least something close to it, and this is—as far as I can remember—the first I've felt this kind of apprehension."

She judged him in silence, gauging the honesty of his words, and she took her time doing it too that Troy was so tempted to fidget where he stood. Humbling oneself is a new experience for him. And, yes, it's a novel feeling when all his life he's never been relegated to a role of supplicant. Finally, Lucille took mercy and spoke. "I will put you out of that desperation then," She let that linger for a full minute—and Troy was wary to assume anything of what she means—before adding, "But I think it's time for that question first, Troy."

"Question?" He echoed dumbly then at her pointed look, followed what she means. She wants to hear him ask. Not Gabriella. Not Jason. Not anyone else. "Mrs. Smarth," He began after a long drawn out breath as if preparing for a difficult undertaking. "I don't mean to impose and I wouldn't want you to think I'm taking advantage of Gabriella or your hospitality but with what happened I have very little choice so I'm asking if . . . if I could stay here while I figure something out to solve my problem?"

"You can stay—"

Troy almost didn't believe what he heard came out of her mouth. He couldn't believe it's as simple as asking to make her agree. Just that and no inflection of sarcasm he was expecting to some extent. _Damn, she's a contradiction!_ "T-thank you." He managed in surprise.

"But let's understand each other, Troy. I don't trust you." She stated implacably but not unkindly. "I'm sure you don't trust any of us either but that's irrelevant considering your position here. Nonetheless, for as long as your stay here, you will abide by my rules. If I see anything—_anything at all_—that I do not like you doing or saying, I will send you out, no questions asked. Are we clear?"

Troy should've known better than to presuppose Lucille would agree and leave things at that. She had agreed to accommodate him but she was also shrewd enough not to make him forget he's still nothing more than a stranger and his rights in their home is very, very limited. But either way, he understood and could not fault her at all because if their places were reversed he didn't think he'd be as accommodating to an unfamiliar person and especially not when he's financially short of funds. He was quickly learning so much about Gabriella's aunt and he grudgingly admits he already admires her. Meeting Gabriella and her unusual family was a lucky break for him, he decided. He could've ended up meeting someone worse.

"Perfectly clear, Mrs. Smarth." He enunciated.

* * * * * *

"Jesus Christ! Gabriella! He looks like . . ." Kelsi paused in her animated and impassioned reaction, thinking of a word to use to best describe Troy. They withdrew to Gabriella's room and Jason took off somewhere while Troy was having his one on one with Lucille and the discussion took longer than they anticipated. Kelsi was beside herself with excitement over Troy, quite odd of her usually reserved friend, and she had just let up on shaking Gabriella for keeping things from her. "He looks like the Alpha male . . .Hollywood hottie, dream boat, in demand poster boy . . . the big leagues!"

"Out of our league. Way, way out." Gabriella interjected gesturing with a flicking of her hands in the air as she paced next to the bed, trying to restrain her impatience over finding out what her aunt's decision for Troy is. Personally, she's not sure what she wants to happen. She feels like she's floating on limbo. Didn't she make every effort not to think of him this morning? Shutting down every thought to being foolish? Now, there's a wild chance that Troy might actually stay for longer and get better acquainted with her.

It's almost like a typical romance novel plot. Crap! Why the heck is she thinking of novels and romance ones at that?

She's confused. She's wary . . . she's scared and she doesn't know why.

Kelsi followed her back and forth stride with her eyes. "Well, yeah, but as of this time, he's penniless."

"A temporary setback, I'm sure, so whatever it is you're thinking . . . stop." Gabriella paused from her pacing to shot Kelsi a warning look, pushing reason on the forefront of her jumbled thoughts.

Unaffected, Kelsi continued musingly. "He looks extraordinarily loaded, you know. There's something about him, the way he looks and carries himself, that just speaks instantly of money and privilege. How rich is he exactly?" She flopped herself on the futon, settling into a comfortable position. "I mean, I'm a little curious only because we common people don't normally meet or get to associate with those like him."

"I don't know, Kels. I didn't ask and I won't ask. It's not really my concern either."

Kelsi shifted again and twisted behind her. "Do you want him to stay here for longer?" She asked as she lifted the jacket hanging on the backrest of the futon. She spread it open and smirked at an oblivious Gabriella who kept on with her pacing.

"I'm not sure. I like him, you know. He's arrogant probably like most rich people yet he's shown that he can be nice and caring."

"But?"

"But this is like surreal! And what does it matter if I like him to stay or not?" Gabriella exclaimed without breaking stride then abruptly she stopped and moved to the chair of her study table to sit down. "Is he really that desperate to want to settle for what we have here? He hasn't said anything about his social background but I'm sure he's used to the very best luxuries—" Then, she was pulled out of her impatience as she noticed a slip of paper sticking out from one of her books.

"You're digressing." Kelsi laid the jacket over her lap with care, running her palms on the fine material, as though it was fragile and precious. "But if he is indeed that rich, living here—in this area—is like the prince being tossed out of the palace into the streets. No offense though . . . what do you have there?"

Having not heard whatever her friend said, Gabriella slowly turned from her seat and held up the paper to Kelsi. "He left me a note b-before he went off this morning." She sounded in awe, her expression uncertain but her eyes danced with unwilling delight.

Pushing up from the futon and laying the jacket over it, Kelsi took the paper and quickly read. "Oh my . . ." She looked to Gabriella with wonder and a giddy smile then pointed to the futon. "That jacket is his, isn't it?"

Gabriella nodded, able to smile now since her fall earlier. "Yes. He gave it to me. Persistently gave it."

"That's it! I'm eavesdropping." And Kelsi did exactly that, despite Gabriella's for her demand not to, pressing herself against the wall to the kitchen and crouched low on all fours. She could hear Lucille talking in that calm, no nonsense voice of hers and Troy's deeper tone interjecting intermittently.

"You're up for the challenge of taking on a job?" Lucille was asking Troy and Kelsi silently gave a leap of joy at the implication of that question. She was behaving outside of her usual reserve but she suddenly couldn't care less. Someone like Troy to come upon them is a rare occurrence and she doesn't want to miss any moment of it. Gabriella maybe bewildered, but she on the other hand was feeling excited.

"It's the only way." Troy mumbled his reply that Kelsi had to strain to hear, unaware that she's been inching herself toward the kitchen entry and Lucille already saw her shadow slashed across the floor.

Troy continued, intent on going over details of his stay in the apartment, oblivious to the eavesdropper behind him and the wall. "I need help finding a job, though, Mrs. Smarth. I don't know where to look or where to start."

"If you're really up to anything, there are plenty of options available." Lucille moved away from the counter and walked passed Troy. Her black dainty flats stopped directly to where Kelsi was peeking, making the younger girl gasp in surprise and fall backward on her butt. "Kelsi," Lucille said pleasantly furthering her embarrassment at being caught listening in. "do you agree with my decision on Troy?"

Blushing to the roots of her hair and unable to meet Lucille's eyes or Troy's who now stood beside Lucille, Kelsi did her best to utter. "Y-yes, Mrs. Smarth."

"Good. Any suggestions for Troy's employment?"

"I—" She had none, she was about to say, but the front door opened and Chad came in at the same time Gabriella went out of her room. They all looked at her sitting on the floor and at each other for a few seconds before Lucille spoke again.

"He's staying." It was told in general but it garnered differing reactions. Kelsi managed to grin despite herself. Gabriella was equal parts pleased and wary. Chad was irritated and only Lucille's presence kept him from slinging a nasty retort at the presumptuous stranger.

As for Troy, he barely registered Chad's unpleasant expression but kept his eyes trained on Gabriella. He saw the pleasure that lit up her face when Lucille announced her decision to let him stay again, and unbelievably it warmed him with astonishing force. He realized then that apart from Lucille's agreement, he was also craving for Gabriella to approve and be glad that he's not leaving her life just yet.

She held up her hand holding the short note for him to see and, at his jolt of recognition of his hasty parting letter to her that morning, she grinned at him and said with mock disappointment, "Looks like I won't be getting that package of books, huh?"

Still sitting on the floor, Kelsi broke out in unladylike laughter.

* * * * * *


	6. Chapter 6 Drastic

Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

Weather changes can be drastic. His father's temper is almost always drastic. The women he meets, more often than not, are drastic creatures. Sharpay goes into a drastic fit whenever she's given ordinary water instead of the sparkling one or when a lock of her golden hair has gone out of coif.

In other words, in his world, in his lifestyle—lifestyle he currently does not inhabit—the word drastic is often used loosely. But he was coming to grasp that drastic becomes drastic in the truest meaning of the word when you're financially lacking and have to contend yourself with others. Drastic now means going from being well-off to becoming a virtual pauper in a matter of weeks. Drastic means one moment your only concern is going from one party scene to the next then suddenly you're obliged to waking up early and slaving yourself away to earn some money.

Physically, he ached. The joints in his body he couldn't even name hurt. He was tired and he smelled of sweat, smoke and the gagging combination of ingredients found in a commercial kitchen that serves a variety of greasy, heart clogging food. He hated it. Hates working at Sam's Diner, taking orders from classless individuals, fending off pathetic flirtations from female customers and some of the waitresses and he hates washing dishes. Hates it but he also knows he has to endure it because he needs the money.

It's been a week now since he found he doesn't have access to his funds. A week since Lucille agreed to let him stay. A week since the shock of his situation had weighed down on him and he was practically at a loss what to do. Despite what Lucille thought of him, he was desperate and yes, scared of what would happen, what was to come, how he would cope. It being a novel feeling and all that uncertainty clawing one after the other in his head rendered him unable to think of another way to solve his problem.

Even now, a week in, walking back to the apartment, he felt . . . not himself. What did he know of poverty anyway? The chasm of his social position to theirs has never been more palpable in everything he has seen of this area. He was born to immense wealth and privilege so it's little wonder why he feels like he's floating in a sea of ambiguity. He's in shock to put it simply and being so he had allowed other people to decide what best to do next when the very reason he was here in the first place was his avoidance of doing what his own father thinks is best for him. The irony of it all should've been funny but it's not.

Given a key of his own—yes, it was a surprise when Lucille handed him the key—he unlocked the apartment door and strode in. Knowing there's no one home at this time of the day, Troy didn't bother announcing himself. He went straight to the sofa which also served as his bed for the night and slumped himself wearily, propping both legs up the arm rest. The sofa was too short for him. It was lumpy and cramped but he insisted on sleeping here instead of taking up Gabriella's room again thus, as the days rolled by, he was able to get used to his temporary bed and is now able to sleep through the night in it.

But was this—where he is, what he's doing—best for him? Now that he had taken his father out of the equation? Always demanding the best out of everything, he can almost hear Jack saying, '_Surely you can do better than that.'_

Was he giving up already? After a week of unfamiliarity, drastic changes, was he ready to ditch this poor working class status and return to the lap of luxury? It's as easy as going to the Bolton offices or to Lava Springs and he'd be whisked away by his father. Except, surprisingly, there's this tiny voice in him who brooded in utter silence up until recently, telling him he doesn't want to be found yet. His unspoken complaints is probably a long running list by now but immediately after he experienced a horrible first day of working at Sam's Diner, he decided to take every unpleasantness as a challenge that he must overcome.

Giving up, amazingly, didn't once occur to him that first day at the diner. He surprised himself more than anyone else.

Somehow this past week something shifted, it wasn't just avoiding his father anymore. He also wants to prove he can do it on his own, his own abilities, his own wit and his earned resources. He wants to prove Jack wrong. He wants to make his father eat his words; make him realize that he's not just another heir to a billionaire, suffering from a bad case of ennui. This, he saw, is his chance and he's decided to exploit it to the fullest.

Besides, it's not like living here with Gabriella and her family is a state of perpetual discomfort for him. No, this apartment gives relative comfort and from someone who has never known discomfort in living that assessment says much. It isn't the kind of comfort he's used to but it is comfort just the same and for that he's thankful because he could've had it worse. And it's almost funny how the tones and voices in the apartment had somehow become familiar to him in so short a time. He can tell from the foot falls alone which one among his hosts arrived or went, when in the house where he spent a better part of his life in he's oblivious to everything.

Well, of course, the house in L.A., like a number of other houses the Bolton's own, is a mansion with several rooms, large house staff and all the amenities one would expect from a residence that enormous that it would be hard to keep track of the coming and goings of anyone, even if he cared enough to do so.

Also, another factor to consider for his sudden unparalleled awareness, are the people with him.

Lucille may have been a little harsh when they talked a week ago but he was astonished that she was allowing him to stay for free. She still didn't trust him but it's to be expected. Lucille was simply being cautious as she should be. Though now that he's living with them, the woman was everything he imagined a mother should be. Well, maybe not everything but she comes pretty close.

Beneath her calm exterior is a warm, kind soul that knows her responsibility as a parent and doesn't slack in fulfilling them. She's affectionate, funny, engaging to talk to but she's also strict when need be and without being domineering, she's in control of the house and her children. She provides suggestions instead of imposing them unlike he's father.

When Jason and Gabriella both suggested Troy work at the diner, Lucille told him what working there would entail and that he take time to think it over then she also made suggestions of other work places for him to consider. At that time, even in his state of mental numbness and the shock of the strictures he should follow for being allowed to stay, he recognized that he was still given rights over his choices, a freedom to decide what best to do while they extended the help he needed—and he respected Lucille all the more for that concession. Jack Bolton could learn a thing or two from her.

Jason proved what his first impression of him gathered. Funny, carefree, easy to please, a bit on the dull side when compared to Gabriella and Chad, but he seem to have accepted Troy as part of their household without prejudice or expectation of any kind. In fact, Jason often invites him in his outings—mostly to play ball or to some house party—with some of the guys from East High. At first he thought it was common courtesy why he was being invited but realized sooner that it wasn't so. Jason and his peers seem to really welcome his presence and Troy does enjoy playing with them.

On the other hand, Chad is the drastic opposite of Jason. Almost like Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. Whereas Jason is the blithe guy, Chad is the serious one. He's of the same age as Troy, attends U of A on athletic scholarship and holds a part-time job to pay for his living allowance. In other words, he's more responsible, relatively independent and more adult than Jason and even Troy. He also barely speaks to him, barely acknowledges his presence in the apartment and Troy has a niggling vibe that Chad personally doesn't like him. Probably even detests the idea of him extending his stay with them. He once considered trying to gain his good side but had to discard the idea in favour of his own dilemma. Besides, its Lucille's good graces he should be worrying about, not one of her son's.

And then there's Gabriella . . .Gabriella, who by just one look in those stunning brown eyes of hers, he could see concern, compassion, friendship and encouragement. She makes an effort to make things comfortable for him . . . preparing the sofa where he would sleep, asking him what other personal items he needed aside from the basic ones they were able to provide on short notice, offering to familiarize him with the area, accompanying him that first day at the diner as if he was a young boy scared of going to school for the very first time—and he felt like it too—but nevertheless, appreciated the gesture.

It was also a given, even before his money problem became known, he enjoys her company, her wit, her penchant for cleanliness and her soft heart for strays—just four days ago she came home with a mangy cat that was half-wild it looked positively scary and dangerous. But she earned the ugly animal's trust so easily that she was able to care and nourish it before handing the cat to the local animal sanctuary when she couldn't find a home for it. He'd been amazed to witness her concern for the stray. He'd never seen anyone care so much and he couldn't help thinking what a lucky beast that was—almost as lucky as him, technically speaking, because on an afterthought he realized he's her stray too and not once did she neglect him.

He was certain these animals wouldn't mind being strays, like he doesn't mind being referred to as a stray, if Gabriella were the one to take care of them.

She's also no simpering miss. She can meet his arrogance head on and is never in awe of him though she suspects and could see some evidence of his privileged upbringing in his behaviour—such refreshing personality rare to come by but he found in the most unlikely girl outside his social circle.

Added to that, he likes her eyes—stunning, dark liquid gold in colour and quite expressive. He's never seen a pair more mesmerizing—and her lips—pink, wonderfully shaped, luscious—he found himself thinking a couple of days ago that if he could he'd kiss her lips all day and not grow weary of it, before he came to his senses and immediately quashed the startling thought.

The sound of the lock opening made Troy turn his head to the door and he smiled at Gabriella entering the apartment in her favoured loose fitting shirt and pants with her ever present backpack and clutching a thin binder close to her chest. "You're early." He greeted swinging his legs to sit, his bleak mood lifting. "No rehearsal?"

"None. Miss Darbus isn't around and Kelsi decided we all needed a break." She laid her things on the empty couch across Troy and sat on the space he patted beside him on the sofa. "How was work today, Troy Hewitt?"

"The usual." He shrugged, moving back a little to allow a comfortable space between them. He barely paid heed to the name he used to identify himself to people outside of Gabriella's family, excepting Kelsi. He used his mother's middle name for his employment at the diner . . . just to be on the safe side since he can't be sure if there are some who'd be familiar with the Bolton name. Thankfully, being employed in the diner didn't require much paper work. Lucille's word had been enough to convince Sam Mortimer, the owner, that he was a distant relative of the Montez's.

Gabriella giggled and curled a jean clad leg under her, looking at him with rapt attention. "Usual as in you were fending off flirting girls left and right."

"Being flirted on is not all it's cracked up to be, you know." Troy remarked with an edge of reprimand. The reminder of the shockingly forward patrons of the diner is probably the topmost hated thing on his list of complaints. Coming to terms, grudgingly at that, with actually working to have money to spend, he did not expect to be fawned and flirted over as if he's the only male in the area that can cater to their fantasies. The women in his circle are equally forward and aggressive but at least they employed some subtlety and he could put them off with a cold look or a few curt words. The females here are made of entirely sterner stuff. "I feel like a hunted animal."

She arched one delicate brow. "I find it hard to believe no woman in L.A. flirts with you."

"I didn't say that. They flirt. I can smell flirtation a mile away and I can handle it no matter how crass, tacky or vulgar. But circumstances are different here." He explained wryly, ignoring the compliment underlying her statement to his looks. "I'm working and I'd like to do that in peace—and I can't believe I'm saying this—I don't like having to worry about women trying to paw me."

Gabriella kept a straight face at his arrogant tone which she's aware comes second nature to him but her pink lips were twitching at the corners and Troy's gaze dipped to stare at it. "Claw." She said.

Transfixed, Troy traced the sweep of her lips then, as though able to recall himself again, his eyes flicked back to meet hers and forced to hold it there. In the week since he's been here, despite everything that's happened, despite the drastic changes in his day to day living—of all things to take interest in, he found he was developing a fascination for those dewy lips of hers. Whether she was smiling, talking, pouting, biting her lower lip—he's drawn to it. He couldn't seem to help it. He seems to have suddenly recognized her desirability on some atavistic level.

He had not been prepared for his thoughts to go on a less platonic direction where Gabriella was concerned.

Almost without fail, this week past, his eyes immediately seek to look at her lips and he's plunged into an appalling lack of control he would liken to an adolescent with a severe crush or it could be called an appallingly adolescent state of sexual awareness in her presence . . . not good at all. For both of them.

"What?" He pressed, taking control of his body and he shifted a little.

"Girls claw. Guys paw." Gabriella slowly intoned, curious of the odd, fleeting look that flashed in his eyes. She's been seeing the same look from him every time they talk and she's quite clueless what triggers it or what to make of it. She's tempted to point it out and ask him what else was troubling him aside from his present worries but the thought that he would think her a nosy little nobody intruding even into his private thoughts made her hold back. Troy, she's come to know, keeps his thoughts on a tight lid and details of his life as a rich man's son carefully private.

Although her curiosity of him remains persistent, she respects his silently communicated desire to keep his background undisclosed. Troy doesn't ask about her parents—even though he's probably just as curious why she's living with her aunt and her situation with two adoptive brothers definitely invites questions—because, she deduced, by asking such personal stuff, the same will be asked from him and unlike her, he's not willing to tell.

At any rate, it's not part of the deal that he should tell them about his privileged life . . . a life he would be returning to once he's saved enough money for him to use. He promised to abide by the rules Lucille laid out for him in lieu of his temporary boarding in the apartment. He even insisted on paying for his stay with what was left of his money, only he couldn't win that argument when Lucille adamantly refused to accept it.

"Right. Guys do the pawing." He chuckled and gently chucked her chin with the knuckle of his hand—another little gesture he does often and couldn't help doing when they talk. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

"You do that." She could not imagine what must be going through his head or what he must be feeling with the big changes in his life, albeit temporary, but it wouldn't be encouraging for sure. Like Kelsi said, a prince thrust out from the palace into the streets will never be a pleasant experience.

As it is, she feels sad for him. Not pity. Never that because he doesn't look pitiful at all. Just imagining his plight makes her compassionate for him, makes her want to reach out to ease some of his burdens. She also wants to reach out to stroke her fingers through his wheat coloured hair, feel the locks run through her fingers—_no, no!_ _Don't you dare go there!_

Quickly, Gabriella stamped the notion, reminding herself that this isn't one of her romance novels. Though he may look like some kind of prince, she in contrast doesn't fill nor fit the role of princess. And there's nothing going on between them other than simple friendship that is perhaps temporary. She would do well to keep that in mind at all times. "I'm starving." Her voice came out unnaturally shrill and Gabriella silently cursed for letting her thoughts stray toward impossible directions. "Let's make something to eat."

He pressed back into the cushions, closing his eyes. "Gabriella, food isn't really high on my wish list right now."

"Don't be silly." She stood abruptly, taking command to distract the wayward thoughts and pulled him from the sofa by the arm. "What we make won't taste nor smell like fast food. Come on."

Allowing himself to be tugged toward the kitchen, Gabriella took charge at once, gathering ingredients and kitchen utensils needed for whatever it was she planned to make. Standing beside her by the small work area, she gave him a chopping board and a knife then tossed a plump tomato at him which he easily caught. "Here. You do that first then the red pepper and onion." She ordered.

He put down the tomato on the board and stared at it like it's some sort of alien specimen he was trying to figure out how to dismember. "What will I do exactly with this?"

His tone made Gabriella pause from cracking an egg in a bowl. She looked incredulously at him. "We're making omelette." She informed him. She assumed it should've been obvious with the items in front of them.

"Oh, I like omelette." He enthused, knowledge finally dawning on him what with the eggs and vegetables. "So, what will I do with the tomato?"

"You've never made omelette before." Gabriella stated on a sudden realization that the man beside her, although he's never once said so, is from a well-to-do family. A very well-to-do family from every bit of evidence so far. His meals are probably prepared by a chef hence, she's asking him to do the impossible with preparing the ingredients for the omelette.

"Never dreamed of it." He affirmed with a careless shrug but he grabbed the knife, held the tomato in place and tried to work on it.

Gabriella shook herself from staring agape and looked at the tomato. In a calm, controlled voice, she said, "Troy, slice it. Don't poke it."

"Slice not poke." He repeated then eyed the tomato critically whose smooth skin now bore evidence of his knife stabbing abilities and its juices were slowly leaking onto the chopping board. He grimaced and conceded with a sigh. "You have to show me how to do this, Gabriella."

"Are you sure you want to do this? I can—" She started to reach for the knife he held.

He moved it out of her reach. "I will eat too. I'm doing my share in the work. Equal rights here, Montez." He admonished with a disapproving glance at her hands ready to take the knife from him, barely realizing how odd an attitude it was for him to insist on doing such a domestic task."Show me."

Gabriella couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. "You are the most arrogant guy I know." And as it happens, she quite enjoys his arrogant side but she'll be dead before she admits that aloud.

"Why thank you, Miss Montez." He retorted but with good humour, her infectious laughter making him grin. Among other things, he likes that she's not so easily intimidated by him. "I do try not to disappoint."

She rolled her eyes at him but resisted a rejoinder. Abandoning the eggs, Gabriella reached out again. He wants to do it so she'll humour him. Besides, she reasoned, there's no harm in educating him on how to cut up vegetables. Would knowledge on how to slice veggies for an omelette be a plus factor of attraction to the ladies in his social circle? _Why the hell is she even worrying about his effect on the ladies?_ That's his problem, if it ever is, not hers.

As Troy made room for her by standing a little sideways, Gabriella grasped over his left hand holding the tomato with her own left hand and her right going over his hand holding the knife. "Like this . . ." She began, thrusting all silly notions aside and slowly showing him, hand over hand, the correct way to hold and cut the tomato.

The pressure of her smaller hand would tighten and loosen on his much larger ones as she urged him to work on the tomato following her instructions. At that moment, Troy knew he should be concentrating on the tomato and her instructing voice. It's what his brain was telling him but Gabriella was too close . . . which proved to be a distraction to his awareness. So close that her slim shoulders, even with the tiniest of movements, were brushing against his chest. And as if that wasn't enough provocation to his highly strung senses, her bowed head was directly under his nose. He could smell the floral scent of her shampoo combined with that distinctive scent of hers—warm, soft, inviting, oh so _feminine—_teasing his olfactory sense. His nostrils flared, his body went taut.

How he liked her scent. But it was sidetracking him, _damn it_, making him think thoughts he shouldn't be thinking while cutting up vegetables for an omelette.

He had to fight down an urge to wrap his arms around her, turn her around and press her small lissom frame against his—g_ood Lord, this isn't right!_

And that man part without a brain . . . there's that unwelcome twitch again._ How long has it been since he had a warm, willing woman to satiate his carnal needs?_ The way his body is reacting to her nearness, he feels like an ill disciplined boy.

Squelching a groan and forcibly pushing aside inappropriate thoughts of the girl in front of him, Troy mentally reminded himself that this is the same girl who made him feel welcome; keeping a steady string of conversation with him, asking how his day went—if there were any problems or difficulties, telling him not to overdo himself or if he needed anything he shouldn't hesitate to tell her. The same kind girl who saved his life in more ways than one, the girl who lives in the same roof with him, the girl who is the niece of the owner of this apartment and therefore whatever unwanted thoughts he was having now might possibly be the effects of being very grateful to her kindness and consideration.

Yes, that's all there is to it. The fact that he hasn't gotten laid since his release from the holding cell at the LAPD headquarters, the only plausible reason is _deprived libido_. What else could it be anyway, considering the circumstances of the situation? He was noticing the little things about her because of their proximity and because they've spent a lot of time together this past week . . . plus, she's also enjoyable company. Company he wouldn't want to relinquish.

"Got it?" Gabriella turned halfway, looking up to him, her shoulder pressing against his chest making him tense up. There was a questioning expression on her pretty but unadorned face. This close, her skin was flawless, glowing with health and he wanted to lift a hand to stroke it.

He forced his hands still.

Their eyes met, held for a minute and maybe a few seconds longer before Troy recovered himself, finally understood her query of what it is he's suppose to get and nodded, stepping back to let her move back to her place next to him. "Yes. Got it."

He mustn't have sounded convincing for she afforded him a dubious look but otherwise said nothing, turning her attention back to the eggs.

Determined to snuff out the inappropriate ideas that enshrouded his being because of Gabriella's nearness, Troy did his best with the tomatoes, the red pepper next and lastly utilized every drop of will power he could grasp on so as not to let water leak from his eyes because of the sting from the blasted onions.

From the corner of his smarting eyes, Troy spied her shoulders rocking to a tell tale mirth as he hurried on with chopping the onions. He heard himself growl but instead of getting the appropriate guilt and quelling for finding his struggles with the onion a source of enjoyment, Gabriella's mirth erupted in breathy laughter.

"This is not dignified at all. Damn it." Troy grumbled but deep down he accepted the stupid onion as comeuppance for his insidious thoughts about her mere minutes ago. "Why go to all this trouble? There are fresh vegetables from the can, isn't there? Pre-cut and ready to dump in a pan, like at the diner."

"There's no such thing as fresh anything from a can, Troy."

"Sure there is." He countered with his innate sangfroid surfacing once more. "_Freshness guaranteed_ label means just that."

Gabriella began whisking the eggs. She really enjoys inane conversations like this with him. "Chopping up onions is a test of one's manliness."

"Like hell it is." He muttered, wiping his wet cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt.

Not pausing with her task, she fought against another round of hilarity to inform him in a cavalier manner. "A guy who can chop onions without succumbing into girly tears—"

"There are much more pleasurable ways of testing manliness. Ask any guy. And stop trying to rile me, Gabriella." Troy interrupted a little crossly, finishing with the onions and throwing her a withering glare that was spoiled by his teary eyes. "Let's get this done. I want to eat."

Replacing the bowl of frothy egg on the work table, she conceded with a dutiful slant of the head but her eyes were so filled with humour that even in his wretched eye-stinging state, he wasn't proof against it. A reluctant chuckle escaped his lips before he could suppress it as she took on a stern expression and playfully saluted him in a manly voice. "Sir, yes sir!"

* * * * * *

"Didn't you say food isn't in your wish list?" Gabriella reminded sitting across Troy at the small dining table while they shared a plate of the omelette. She gestured with the fork in her hand at the nearly empty plate, most of its content he devoured with much gusto.

Swallowing a bite of crusty roll and omelette, Troy made his defence. "This is good and I did help make it."

"Well, at least when you get back home you can boast knowing how to make an omelette. And maybe make one for your father to get on his good side."

It happened too quickly for Gabriella to realize she crossed unchartered waters. His fork froze in midair, his lips tightened and his eyes veiled. The change in him was startlingly abrupt that she waited in bated breath what he'd say and do next for her unwitting mention of his father . . . or is it the suggestion of him making an omelette when he returns to his former life? Was the idea demeaning? Was he offended? Did he not want to mend things with his father?

She didn't have to wait long. Just as hastily as his expression closed, he recovered immediately but when he replied, adopted the same detached air she encountered on their very first meeting, "That's not gonna happen. He doesn't eat omelette." He stood suddenly, went to the fridge, and grabbed two cans of soda before sitting back down, pushed one to hers and upended the other with a long gulp then he said, "I don't know any of my co workers."

The change in topic couldn't be any clearer that he wanted talk about his father dropped and Gabriella took the hint out of deference to his obvious displeasure at the mere citing of the older Mr. Bolton—not the first time it happened either. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to encourage a little familiarity with others, Troy." She suggested trying to match his offhand manner.

"So far the only familiarity I welcome is with you and a little bit with Lucille and your brothers."

"What's wrong with your co workers?"

"They're not you but since I haven't much of a choice, what do you suggest I do?"

_They're not you._ Plain words. Plainly stated as well. He probably doesn't mean anything by it but Gabriella—awe, inexperience and all—reeled. It was all she could do not to betray how those words affected her. If it were anyone else, she'd have easily dismissed it but for the first time in her life, although she didn't think it was possible, after a week of trying to explain her reaction to him she had to acknowledge, her leaping pulses meant she's attracted to a man. Not just any man but at Troy Bolton and all the mysteries shrouding him.

It started when they met, she accepted that now for what it was, and has grown steadily since. She was helpless to stop it, didn't want to stop it.

_But, _on a belated thought_, does he have a girlfriend back home?_ It doesn't look it but so what if he does have one. Troy is hardly the guy she should feel possessive about. Crush, _yes_; possessive, _no_. He is so far out of her league and he probably wouldn't want to be in league with her either. Again—just to berate for the umpteenth time and remind herself not to dwell on the realm of fantasy influenced no doubt by her love of romance novels—theirs is all but temporary and she'd be foolish to hope for an extension after he solves his money problems.

"Don't set yourself apart too much." Gabriella advised evenly then opened the soda can but the tab refused to budge and she struggled with it.

Seeing her difficulty, his arm reached across to take the can from her and deftly solved the problem with a simple flick of his thumb then handed it back. "How?"

She smiled in thanks before her brows furrowed thoughtfully as she considered the query then after a moment of pondering, she brightened. "Sometimes responding to a knock-knock joke helps foster camaraderie among employees."

He looked at her above the soda can he was drinking as if he wanted to revised his opinion on her intelligence and her sanity. "Tell me you're not serious."

She took a sip from her soda and met his look. "Can't."

"What if the joke's corny?"

"You still laugh." She enunciated distinctly then took another sip.

He grumbled something Gabriella couldn't catch. "You're right." He granted though a bit ungraciously. "I can't help it if I approach some things with a wariness I'd feel to a snake curled around the base of a toilet but I guess I'll have to learn their names. Labelling them won't do."

"Labelling? Like name tags?"

He shook his head and took a drink as well. "I haven't actually bothered to read their name tags. I call the waitresses by their hair color . . . there's Red, Blonde and Brunette who's the cashier."

With a disapproving glare, Gabriella dryly commented, "They sure made that easy for you."

"The cook is Tum-tum 'cause he has a bulging midsection. Nice guy that."

"He'll butcher you if he finds out you call him Tum-tum." Shaking her head, Gabriella plucked the last piece of toasted bread from the plate and wagged it at him as she said, "I bet they call you popinjay . . . I know I would."

He ignored the barb, carrying on as if she didn't even speak. "The delivery slash errand guy is Sigh."

"Oh good," Gabriella perked up. "at least there's one person you call by name."

"That's not his name."

"Then why Sigh?"

His face broke into a dazzling white grin then he winked at her at the same time snatching the toast from her hand. "He sighs all the time."

Gabriella inhaled sharply, completely unprepared by the boyish charm of his wink that she belatedly registered her toast had been taken and is now being gobbled. "You are terrible!" She managed to sound stern but it had no effect on him. "Do you have labels for us too?"

He swallowed, completely unrepentant for devouring her toast. He looked to be enjoying her annoyance. "Don't have any for Jason and Chad nor Lucille."

"And me?" She held her breath, though she wasn't sure why. She's been labelled before. Some disagreeable students at East High call her unsavoury names and she's easily able to brush it off.

He pinned her with his cyan eyes and took his time staring at her before revealing. "Sweet Angel."

Expecting some ridiculous name similar to those he gave his co workers, Gabriella doubted her hearing. "What?"

"Did I ever thank you for saving me?" He asked.

She blinked. He spoke mundanely like they were still on the same thread of conversation and Gabriella had to give it to him for the smooth diversion, although he couldn't quite hide the very slight flush that marred his cheekbones. "Yes, you have." She replied. "That's why you gave me the jacket." Yet another subject he wanted dropped but she refused to acquiescence. "You call me Sweet Angel?"

"Yes. It's not why I gave the jacket to you. I just want you to have it." It was a quick assent, seeming part of one sentence, on the same subject as the jacket that Gabriella knew she'd have missed it if she wasn't keen on him.

She put the soda on the table and began slowly circling it between her palms. "Why?"

He gave her an exasperated glare but inwardly he was berating himself for his loose tongue. Like most females, Gabriella is incurably inquisitive and not just about his label on her but about his background as well. Although, he had to give her props for restraint on the latter. "You don't exhaust the giver by requiring explanations for the gift. It's insulting."

"I meant, why Sweet Angel?" She persisted wanting to win this battle against his evasiveness. When someone labels you as something quite unexpected, at the very least you deserve to know the reason for it, don't you? "I'm neither sweet nor angelic."

Oddly, he found amusement in her statement. His lips curved into a slow, tempting smile. "Or most people I know are devilish."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

Gathering the empty plates before them, Troy pushed back his chair and stood while Gabriella waited for his answer. But he gave none. "What's the deal with Kelsi hating Jason?"

Briefly she wondered what it would take to shake his damnable calm but she indulged his topic-hopping-when-it-suits-him tendencies. There will be other opportunities to get him talking. "Goes way back in grade school." She stood and tossed the empty soda cans in the trash bin then followed him by the sink.

"Tell me."

She began washing while he stood beside her ready with a towel to dry each item. "A class project. They were partners and Jason—well, they failed because of him."

"What did he do?"

"It was a week long project about responsibility and such. Each pair was tasked to take care of an egg . . . like parents take care of babies or their kids in a sort of symbolic sense."

"An egg?"

"Yes, an egg." Gabriella handed him a washed plate, already knowing what he finds objectionable about the egg. Yet another evidence of his lofty social status. "The average chicken egg. Store bought. Same as the ones we used for the omelette."

Brows curled in a quizzical frown, he briefly paused with his task. "Why not—"

"Public school, Troy. Animated baby dolls equipped with cool features of gurgling, peeing, crying, burping and throwing up are not within the public schools budget."

"But surely—"

She thrust another plate at him. "Do you want to hear it or not?"

With a flick of his wrist like a potentate commanding his subject, he ordered, "Carry on." Then took the plate from her.

Gabriella rolled her eyes but she couldn't help smirking either. His air of authority was irritating, appealing and fascinating all at once and she's inevitably drawn to him. "As I was saying, Jason and Kelsi were partners. The rule was that the partners take turns in caring for their egg, like responsible parents should. Kelsi, naturally did her part."

"And Jason naturally didn't." Troy supplied already chuckling as he anticipated hearing what the ever carefree Jason did to the poor egg unfortunate enough to have him as a parent.

"Right." The memory of that long ago day and Troy's unsuppressed amusement made Gabriella bubble in laughter as well that she had to calm herself just so she can finish telling him what happened. "Kelsi even thought it fitting to christen their egg—"

"Oh God." Troy braced both hands on the counter and bent his head, trying to keep his laughter at bay.

"Jason thought so too although his words were much more colourful than that. Chad and me stood in as godparents, by the way." She closed the tap, paused to breathe and made herself continue. "The fourth day of that week Jason had to take the egg home but before he did, he played ball with some of the street kids. It was a rousing game, I suppose, because he came home totally spent and starving. Unfortunately for the egg, there was not a scrap of food in the house 'cause Lucille hasn't done her grocery shopping yet and it was hours before she could get home. Jason had no money either so . . ."

Eyes wide and incredulous, Troy asked uncertainly. "H-he ate the egg?"

"The poor egg." Gabriella nodded gravelly. "Boiled and d-devoured." She couldn't stop it this time, she gave in and laughter welled over. Troy joined her in seconds and soon, dishes forgotten, they were laughing like idiots, sliding down the kitchen floor, clutching their middle when it became too much and they couldn't quit laughing.

Eventually—thankfully—before their guts could threaten to burst from too much laughing, they subsided. When they calmed down, they found themselves sitting on the floor side by side, backs against the kitchen cabinet, faces flushed, breathing a little laboured and they were looking at each other with silly grins lifting the corners of their mouths.

It was Gabriella who spoke first. In a quiet, half serious voice, she said, "I'm glad I met you, Troy."

"Why?" A note of his inherent smugness was in the query but coupled with a handsome smile, he looked like he was only being playful.

"Because I enjoy your company and you treat me as . . . _me_." She spoke slowly, sincerely, could barely peel her eyes off him, telling him with her eyes that she cherishes moments like this with him. "Except for Kelsi, most of my friends, even Chad and Jason, treat me like I'm one of the boys."

The teasing fell away from his thoughts. Troy didn't know how but he felt the earnestness of her words and it compelled him to be equally honest with her. "I'm glad I met you too, Gabriella."

She looked away from him and stared a hole at a spot on the kitchen floor before asking, "Why?"

He waited for her to turn her gaze back at him, only then did he say, "Because I enjoy your company too and you know how to make me laugh . . . _really laugh_." It's probably the first straight answer he gave her and Troy wouldn't have lied just to please her either. He felt it was important she knows and she deserved that honesty from him. "I'd forgotten how to do that."

* * * * * *


	7. Chapter 7 Like Like That

Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

"How's the stray guy in the house?" Kelsi asked with a casual air of indifference as she sat crossed leg on the wood floors of the backstage dressing room.

"You mean Troy?"

"Are you housing another stray human you haven't told me about?"

Gabriella shot a reproving look at Kelsi over her shoulders while she struggled with the zipper of Tinker Bell's costume that Miss Darbus insisted she wear to help ease the process of the students on call back for the role of Lost Boys. Since Daisy, the one playing Tinker Bell, and the understudy for the same role—suspiciously—both called in sick that morning, she was asked or rather ordered by Miss Darbus to fill in for the part, wear the costume and sing with those on call back a scene from the play to facilitate those who will be chosen. "He's adjusting . . . well." She said.

No longer trying to avoid thinking about Troy, who for the past thirteen days has been living in the same roof with her and not complaining the least bit, Gabriella let her thoughts drift to him and her lips curved into a secretly amused smile.

The guy who she was very certain would fail abysmally in the adjustment stakes with respect to altering his lifestyle while living with them had surprised them all by fitting in well. After almost two weeks, Troy was already part of their household as if he lived there as long as they did.

He got along fine with all of them—well, except with Chad since of late he favours staying in the frat house with his college buddies so they rarely get to see him nowadays. In his absence though, Troy does the house chores Lucille assigned to him without complaint. And even though it was painfully obvious he was domestically awkward, he managed to take it all in stride. He's also gotten around to helping in the kitchen now and is genuinely interested in learning how to cook simple meals.

His initially tight lipped and aloof attitude melted away somehow and in place was a guy that's infinitely more likeable. Dinners in the apartment became an even more enjoyable and quite noisy affair once Troy warmed up to joining in the conversations and even went as far as sharing funny anecdotes about the upper crust people he knows. By an outsider's observation, he was almost like family already. They never talk nor ask about his background though. It was an obvious conclusion that he's rich but he won't confirm nor deny it. Whatever they assume is fine with him, it seems.

But the time Gabriella spends with him definitely, just as she expected, has this effect on her. An effect, a feeling she has never felt once for anybody, a guy most especially. It was a feeling akin to giddiness, a thrill going through her body like what one would feel after winning an all important competition, every time they're in the same room talking about anything from the mundane to the extraordinary stuff or playing board games or joking around or even just doing chores. Apart from him, she found that she craves his company, his piercing stares, his fleeting touches, his charming smile and his deep voice . . . all of it.

In a way that nobody has been able to accomplish with her, she suddenly began thinking and feeling like someone beautiful whenever he looks at her in that strangely intense way of his which until now she couldn't decipher what makes him eye her like so. Sometimes his gaze seems measuring and appreciative making her feel very feminine and self conscious of her scruffy appearance. In the past two days alone, she repeatedly and seriously considered reinventing her dress sense from the loose shirts and baggy pants to more female appropriate clothing.

Good thing she took a grip of her leaping impulses before embarking on such drastic changes because she's really not up to explaining to Lucille why now, all of a sudden, she has the desire to change her clothing preferences when over the course of eighteen years she's never been inclined nor bothered to do so.

Not only that, she couldn't recall how many times exactly she felt horribly tempted to run her fingers through Troy's hair, curve her fingers to his head and feel . . . feel whatever it is she's supposed to feel when touching a man.

Apart from putting far-reaching thoughts in her head, Troy has a way of making her feel special, like he doesn't want anyone else for company but her, sometimes acting like he's trying so hard to restrain himself from kissing her or like he couldn't wait to get home to see her or like he can't help giving her gifts that it's making her forget their reality, the enormous gap of their individual lives and that it's impossible for their friendship to last beyond now.

She was getting addicted to the unfamiliar yet pleasant feelings he was stirring in her. And for the first time she was sinking deeper and deeper with emotions she could neither understand nor control and any thought of grabbing a lifeline even though she knew she should disintegrates like smoke with a mere smile from Troy.

Never mind that in his presence, she's cast in a battle to resist a level of temptation that was very new to her. Yes, more than once, she does wonder how it would feel like to be kissed by him.

"What is going on with you and Troy?" There was a hint of hesitation in Kelsi's tone when she cut through Gabriella's introspection and as she met her eyes she looked a bit apologetic for asking but also it could be sensed that she had a need to know the real score.

"What do you mean?" And it was an honest question. When apart from him and able to think rationally, Gabriella is also asking what's going on between her and Troy or if there's anything going on. She isn't blind or stupid. She does acknowledge these strange feelings blossoming within her because of Troy and she does love romance novels _but still_ she might be assuming something that isn't there when maybe in Troy's mind his treatment of her is nothing out of the ordinary.

It's an accepted fact of her life that she's not the type of girl to inspire a guy feelings other than friendship but having all these notions about how Troy sees her means she's wavering in that self belief. _He_ made her waver.

"I mean, has he said anything to you?" Kelsi paused like she was trying to better phrase what she wants to say. "Cause you know, Gabs, I don't know if you notice or you're just ignoring it but with you Troy acts almost like a . . . protective boyfriend."

"Don't be silly, Kels." Gabriella negated, tugging down the jagged hemline of the costume to avoid meeting her friend's eyes. The same notion crossed her mind but she discarded the possibility as ridiculous because, really, what could a guy like Troy see in someone like her and since she's never had a boyfriend in her life, there's no one to compare his behaviour with. "Troy's the touchy feely type." She explained but she was thinking _He excites me in a physical way. That's never happened to me before, not with any guy._ "It doesn't mean anything." _Let it mean something._

"I really hope it's just that."

Curls bounced as Gabriella's head jerked up, eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to tell me, Kelsi?"

She sighed and pushed her glasses up her nose. "I like Troy but like it or not, fact is he's not one of us. If things happened differently, he wouldn't even be here. What do you, never mind the rest of us, really know of him? That he's rich? But even that he leaves us to make our own conclusions. I'm not trying to put you down, Gabs. I'll never do that to you and to be honest, I kinda like him for you because he has this way of boosting your self-esteem . . . but whatever he's doing, whatever he's making you feel or think, please don't lose your head. He's gonna leave sooner or later and I don't want you to get hurt."

For a moment, Gabriella felt a spurt of anger at Kelsi's candidness. But quickly realized her friend, who knows what she's been through before, doesn't want her to suffer any illusions of what could be with Troy. Kelsi was telling her upfront what she should have been telling herself while in Troy's company. Because while it was true that Troy has loosened considerably since she met him, he still won't talk about himself. What she knows of him, she gathered from observing. And questions she raises about his family, his privileged life and especially about his father are more often than not evaded. Simply put, even if he thinks of her as a friend, he doesn't trust her enough to confide his personal life. That puts her in a sort of limbo because he's incredibly sweet and thoughtful with her most of the time and she discovered her new weakness besides chocolate coated strawberries is Troy.

Kelsi wasn't discouraging anything, only reminding her and keeping things in perspective because she's genuinely concerned for her like any good friend would be. Whether she admits it or not, her inexperience with guys means she's in danger of losing her head with Troy. And what level of closeness did she really expect there to be when she and Troy have only known each other in so short a time? What she's feeling could possibly be one sided . . . a reaction of awe to a handsome, worldly stranger.

Her earlier amused thoughts of Troy quickly fell into abeyance as she wondered if her giddiness with him means she's already half way to being infatuated. So with an uneasy smile, she avowed with more conviction that she felt, "I won't."

"Good."

She was very, _very _fond of Troy. That's all. "I'm sure he doesn't mean anything though—"

Gabriella tried to parry but Kelsi was quick to shot her down. "He seeks you out all the time. He takes interests in what you do and asks you to tell him about the books you read—_romance _books—seriously, what guy does that! And he's been giving you gifts!"

"Maybe it's a habit of his. There are people like that. Besides, they're just trinkets that caught his eye." Gabriella argued pointedly responding only to the last of Kelsi's statements as she inspected herself in the mirror and frowned distastefully at the costume that revealed her shoulders, arms and a good deal of her legs. "Why is Miss Darbus insisting I wear this?"

"Caught his eye because of you." Kelsi supplied, completely ignoring her comment about the costume. "I don't see him as the type to buy angel figurines, second hand romance books, colourful barrettes and fitted girly shirts just because he personally fancies them. He buys these things for you and he seems to have forgotten that he should be saving money not spending it."

"He's generous . . . he gave me his jacket the first time . . . and it's probably just his way of saying thanks for our hospitality." Gabriella reasoned but even she knew how weak an argument she was giving. She had been shocked as well to be given gifts everyday by Troy. How many times did she refuse them only to lose in his argument and because she didn't want to hurt his feelings? And when did she begin thinking of him like the heroes in her novels that do little things for the heroines to show their affection?

_She has got to stop reading too much romance books!_ It tends her to dreaming, as women known from time immemorial, of love and happily ever after.

"If that's the case, don't you think he's being a little unfair by not giving gifts to Lucille, Jason and Chad?"

"Kelsi—"

"Look, Gabs, all I'm saying is there's nothing wrong with how he treats you. Hell, I would be flattered to death if someone that handsome would look at me like he wants to kiss me senseless or rip my clothes off but," She paused for effect or maybe to emphasize her point. "what you and I have are all assumptions. Troy hasn't said anything concrete, hasn't he?" When Gabriella confirmed this with a shake of the head, she continued. "In his case, whatever his intention with you, whether he has one or he's just passing the time, he should back it with words. Straightforward words."

_You are seriously bad for my health. _Troy told her last night in the middle of telling the story about the book she read which he asked her to tell him. His voice was low, husky, intimate and he was looking at her like he was trying very hard not to drag her close. It literally sent a shiver down her spine even though she had no idea what exactly he meant or what prompted him to say that to her—which somehow proves Kelsi's point. Those were not straightforward words.

It took effort but Gabriella managed a stumbling recovery. "I won't ask him!"

"I don't expect you to. But if he's going somewhere with this, he should say whether he simply likes you or he '_likes you like you'_ without being asked."

Whichever way Gabriella interprets _'likes you like you'_, it still goes without saying that if Troy doesn't say it openly, then all the thoughtfulness and the intense looks he's been throwing at her either means nothing or he's just amusing himself with her to pass the time. "Socially speaking, we mix like oil and water." Yet deep down, she's wishing things are different between them.

"That's why you shouldn't lose your head . . . and maybe you should consider having other distractions."

"Kelsi, no guy here sees me like that."

"Don't be so sure."

"Come on, Kels—"

"Consider it a suggestion."

Silence hung in the air coupled with looks exchanged between long time friends. One concerned, the other grateful and without need for more words exchanged, they understood each other.

"So, tell me why did Miss Darbus insist I wear this?" Gabriella repeated her query some minutes later, more than willing to latch on to a different matter to talk about. She gestured to the costume she now donned and not one to expose skin unless absolutely necessary, she's a bit uncomfortable wearing it.

With an armload of clothes on hand, Martha strode in the small room just in time to hear her and beat Kelsi to the punch in answering. "Because my dear Miss Montez," She mimicked the drama teacher's voice with some exaggeration, causing them to laugh. "when they see you dressed as Tinker Bell and acting a scene with them, they'll get into character better. They'll feel the story singing through their veins."

"In other words, I'm being served up as motivation for these people." Gabriella drily said.

Grinning, Martha dumped the clothes in a corner and said, "Exactly." Then her eyes did a slow, appreciative survey of Gabriella's fidgeting figure in the Tinker Bell costume, proof that she isn't accustomed to wearing sexy, revealing outfits. The costume fitted her like a glove and revealed the delicate curves of her body. It transformed Gabriella from the tomboyish girl she was used to seeing to a lovely little vixen and Martha was thinking that if she were a guy, she'd be blind and crazy not to appreciate the view.

With a grin, Martha added after sharing a quick glance at Kelsi, "And what a motivation you are."

"Where was my motivation when I auditioned for my role?" Gabriella demanded in belated upset, missing the meaning behind Martha's comment or the looks exchanged between the two. "This is totally unfair."

"Hun, you didn't need motivation to impress Miss D and as for the unfairness . . . well, life's like that sometimes."

_Tell me about it._ She wanted to say but kept it to herself.

Troy looked up and saw the back of Jason's head. "We're sneaking in." He whispered in a hiss then disbelievingly wondered why he was whispering. If their purpose was to come in unnoticed, there was a slim chance of being heard what with the music and the singing, he assumed, was coming from the stage and an authoritative voice giving what sounded like harsh comments. "Can't we go in the normal way?" It was a stupid question but he was with Jason and 'stupid' takes on a slightly different perspective in his company.

Without looking back or breaking his sneaking stride towards the back row seats of the auditorium, Jason explained in a hushed tone. "Darbus shouldn't, _mustn't_ see us or she'll slap me with a detention again and force me to paint sets while I'm at it."

Troy did not bother to whisper anymore. "So what the hell are we doing here trawling like thieves in the dark?"

Throwing an impatient glance over his shoulder, Jason hissed, "You said you wanted to see Gabriella—" He reached the end of the wall of the dim corridor and took a cautious peek. "And she's here just like I told you."

Jason had a point. He did ask him earlier where Gabriella was since it was getting late and she has yet to arrive at the apartment. He got worried whereas Jason, the brother, wasn't and instead of being calmed by Jason's insouciance over Gabriella's lateness he grew even more anxious. When pacing the apartment didn't work to dispel his worry, unconvinced that Gabriella would stay so late in school without telling anyone of them, he forced Jason that they should fetch Gabriella at East High. "Thanks—I think." Troy mumbled.

"I'm not being generous." Jason contradicted flatly but his attention was no longer on Troy. He was scanning the people in the auditorium, trying to identify faces at a distance. "There's this new girl I'm seeing . . . she's here too."

Troy shook his head and pressed against the wall directly behind Jason. "Ah of course, why else would you let me force you from your night time TV and go to sneaking in the dark if not for a girl."

Swinging his dark head back at him, Jason raised in a mildly annoyed tone, "I could say the same for you."

"What—"

"You think I don't notice?" He raised a brow and the eyes that pinned Troy suddenly had a sharper edge to it. "Earlier, you were pacing like a restive hungry wildcat on the prowl. I may not care much about things around me but I'm not blind, Bolton . . . and neither is Chad."

Taken aback by the sudden shift in the air and realizing that he had been totally complacent and that he had completely misjudged the other guy, Troy couldn't come up quick enough with what to say for himself. "I—"

"You like her."

It's understood who _her_ is. Absolutely no reason to pretend he doesn't know who Jason is referring to. There was also an unmistakable certainty in the way Jason said it but, considering how protective the brothers are of _her_ and there was also Lucille's reminder that she won't tolerate any inappropriate behaviour from him especially toward her niece, Troy still tried to act as if the issue is trivial to steer the focus away from Gabriella.

He struggled to blank out his face. "I like all of you."

Jason actually rolled his eyes and his lips curled sardonically which was another way of letting him know he doesn't believe a word of that claim. "Can't say I'm flattered." He intoned drily. "I don't sway both ways, Bolton. And if you like me like that, I'll punch you in the face." He grumbled then heaved a sigh as if he was resigned to accepting things as they are which, Troy knew, was typical of him. It'll probably take a life and death situation before Jason can be bothered to interfere with anything that doesn't exactly concern him. "I don't mean the general kind of liking."

Opting not to provide a rejoinder which would only lengthen the subject and keep him in the open, Troy kept his mouth shut and followed Jason as he slipped past the wall and quietly sat themselves in the corner close to one of the exits. It was dark where they sat to keep them unnoticed but they had a very good view of the stage where all the activity was happening.

Failing to spot Gabriella on the stage, he slouched further down the seat upon Jason's orders as precaution to keep their heads hidden in case the eccentric Darbus chance to look in their direction.

Having had his mind jogged, Troy had to admit it was true what Jason said. At the outset, he had liked Gabriella and that innocent liking grew steadily from the simple gratitude to something he's not so keen to acknowledge for reasons, practical and otherwise. There are so many reasons not to get too close to her but he finds he forgets them all whenever she's close.

Rules and restrictions never really worked with him even then. He took great enjoyment in breaking each and every rule thrown his way and mostly to annoy his father. But the situation he's in now is very different, in such that he cannot afford to displease Lucille and the brothers because the consequence will cause even bigger problems for him and at the moment he likes things as they are already.

He really doesn't know what to do because he can't stop liking Gabriella more than the usual. He can't help himself which is probably why even Jason, who couldn't care less, had noticed the difference in his treatment of Gabriella.

Though she may believe less of herself in terms of physical appearance and she wears clothes he doesn't exactly approve of, Troy still likes what he sees everyday. Gabriella isn't beautiful the way the women he's used to are labelled beautiful—artfully styled hair, perfectly applied make-up, expensive clothes, glittering accessories—but there is something about her, a certain _je ne sais quoi—_that all those other women lacked—that makes him wholly conscious and affected of her femininity.

Take last night for example. They were on the roof deck of the apartment building, just lounging on old, yellowing chaise chairs, staring up the dark sky devoid of stars, inhaling pollution and as per usual, ever since Gabriella showed him that rooftop a couple of nights ago, they were savouring the cool night air while talking.

Actually with the amount of talking he's done with Gabriella, if Sharpay knew, he imagined she'd choke on her disbelief. Except with his closest friends and his cousins, he rarely engages in conversation and when he does it's mostly about other people or material stuff. But upon meeting Gabriella, whether trivial or deeply meaningful, he couldn't seem to stop yapping.

"_How do you do that?" He had asked. She was telling him a particularly harrowing experience with a cousin from her mother's side of the family who, as a prank, let unfriendly dogs chase her. Imagining how scared she must've been of those ferocious animals, he was outraged on her behalf despite the fact that it happened several years ago. But Gabriella merely smiled, told him she got over that upset and even forgave the lunatic cousin for what he did because she came out of it unharmed and she learned how to tame the animals._

"_Do what?"_

"_I'm beginning to envy your 'every cloud has a silver lining' attitude." He said, still staring up the sky with his hands behind his head as if deep in thought. The roof deck wasn't exactly an attractive place and the view from that height doesn't even come close to being inspiring but it's become his favourite place to hang out at night because it provides considerable peace and quiet after a hectic day of working and it's the place where he can be alone with Gabriella. "I'd have done the same prank to your cousin and see how he likes being chased witless by snarling animals." _

_Shrugging, she said matter-of-factly, "I don't like to depress myself—exacting revenge isn't my thing—it'll only depress me. I don't chase impossible feats either and I respect my own limitations. And like Lucille always tells me and my brothers, it's never wise to dwell on misfortunes. Better to just move on."_

"_Wise woman, your aunt. Yoda in the making, she is." He stated indolently mimicking Yoda's voice; then he stretched more comfortably on the creaking chaise. She giggled melodiously and he couldn't help smiling to the lovely, infectious sound. _

_Suddenly remembering he had something to give her; he swung his legs to the side and dug a hand to his jeans pocket. Gabriella looked his way with a puzzled gaze. "I have something for you." He averred._

"_Oh, Troy." Gabriella bemoaned and slung an arm over her eyes. "I appreciate your gifts . . . I really do but you have to save your money. Be practical!" She felt him move and a second later he was sitting on the same chaise with her, making her open her eyes and sit up to allow more space between them._

"_It's cheap." He assured with a charming grin._

_She glared with reproach but the tiny answering smile that tugged the corners of her lips means she wasn't proof against him charm. "You always say that."_

_Not the least bit affected by that censure, he ignored her retort and wordlessly held the tiny plastic thing out to her. He doesn't want to analyze himself on his impulses but he found that he takes pleasure in buying things for her. Doesn't matter what it is or how much it costs—though with is current financial state he can't really buy any expensive stuff—he just likes giving her gifts. So he won't stand for her refusal. _

_She eyed the object first with an indented brow then her face cleared to be replaced by open curiosity. "What is that?"_

"_It'll help when you read your books." He proffered with an inner smile at her grudging acceptance and showed her how to use the triangle shaped plastic with a hole for the thumb to slip through. He took hold of her right hand, slipped the thing through her thumb and raised it at eye level. "It serves as some sort of ruler to make it easier to read through printed lines. It's tiny but convenient for reading."_

_Still studying his gift, the tip of her tongue snaked out to moisten her dry lips. His azure eyes, as though trained like a homing pigeon suddenly darkened to a lapis lazuli shade, his gaze dropping to the full and enticing pout of her lower lip and lingered there._

_She spoke, "Thank you." But he barely heard it. He was aware only that her inviting lips were moving and like a sexually challenged teenager, he can't tear his eyes away. "Troy?"_

_Faint colour threw his face into prominence. He stiffened, shifting uneasily in the chair, a tiny muscle pulling tight at the corner of his unsmiling mouth. It took considerable effort to pull his gaze from her lips to her questioning eyes and even when he was able to do so, he was then arrested by her wide, dark gold eyes with those incredibly long lashes._

_She was so close. He could easily draw her to his hard body, hold her face steady, feel those lips against his and kiss her the way he'd been imagining to do. But he knew he couldn't . . . absolutely couldn't. "Welcome." He mumbled with a smile that he hoped didn't look pained and to dispel the tension in him, he encouraged, "Tell me about that book you read recently."_

_Tucking the gift in her pocket, her face brightened and eagerly launched into telling him the romantic plot of the book she read that week. He discovered several days ago that she's an engaging storyteller. He doesn't care for romance really but Gabriella has a way of telling a story that captures his attention and makes him listen to a cheesy romance plot. _

_As she was describing the outstanding, if unbelievable, attributes of the supposedly beautiful Scottish female character as seen by the big, burly Scottish man that was laird to an all powerful Scottish clan, his body began to relax and he listened more attentively and at the same time drawn by the myriad expressions playing across her lovely face and the many hand gestures she was unconsciously doing while she gets deeper into her story._

"_I bet you the women in the year 1100 are as hairy as their men. Nothing attractive about hairy women." He pointed out, gaining him a punch in the arm for ruining the picture she was creating for his imagination but other than that comment he was a model listener. He nodded when appropriate, grumbled disapproval when expected, expressed a sound of believable sympathy for the unfortunate plight of the heroine and asked a question or two about certain details. In short, he wanted her to believe he was genuinely interested all in the name of extending their time alone._

_Unfortunately for him, the relaxed mood he was striving to hold on to dissipated again when she suddenly relayed, ". . . he was caught in a trance by her beautiful brown eyes and her enchanting smile and before he knew what he was doing, he pushed her up against a tree and kissed her breathless. He couldn't help himself. He was ensnared . . . the kissing became more intimate—"_

"_Gabriella . . ." He interrupted while swallowing a groan of frustration and clasping his hands tight to prevent from reaching for her, and without intending to, his voice had taken on the huskily seductive tones of the type used by lovers in the bedroom. "You are seriously bad for my health." _

_She blinked, mouth slightly agape. "I-I don't understa—" She stuttered then abruptly stopped herself as a flush demarcated her cheekbones into prominence but confusion was still very evident in her eyes like she was deciding whether to be flattered or insulted._

_The air, out of the blue, thrummed with tension. He didn't know where it had come from and from the look on Gabriella's face, she doesn't either, but it unsettled him, made him tense again in all places especially that vital part of his male anatomy. He sensed rather than saw that it brought her skin out in goose-flesh. A faint tremor shook her frame, and she watched his mouth suddenly curl into a self mocking smile. Very briefly it was there and then it was gone making her think she only imagined it. He let her scrutinize him with an uneasy suspicion of she knew not what. _

_But he knew what it was. Sexual tension. Sexual hunger. For someone who views sex as casual as a take out meal, it was rare for him to suffer any sort of sexual tension because if that happened with any other woman he's acquainted with, it would naturally be slaked in the nearest available private space. _

_Not with Gabriella though. His awareness of her aunt and her brothers and his position in their household stands like a force field holding him at bay. _

_She's off limits to him. How many times does he have to remind himself that?_

_He cleared his throat and fought for control. "I'm sorry."_

"_Sorry?" She parroted, looking thoroughly bewildered of him, and he realized her inexperience with the opposite sex—except having a guy treat her with a chummy attitude as if she's of the same gender—makes her unable to recognize his raging attraction to her._

"_For interrupting your story." He slid in smoothly but he removed himself from the chaise and sat back on the one he previously occupied. Space was very necessary for his control. "Let's skip the lovey-dovey part—what happened next?"_

"You know I don't really blame you for liking her." Jason's voice intruded into his thoughts, snapping Troy back into the present.

He slid Jason a sideways glance. "Huh?"

"You like Gabriella and I don't blame you for that. Lots of people like her. There are a number of guys I know who are into her." Jason revealed which stunned Troy into stillness before he added, "But they don't make a move because of me and Chad. We don't trust any of them with Gabriella."

Frowning at that logic, he pointed out, "Aren't you being just a little bit unfair to Gabriella? She's eighteen, not eight. She's free to make her choices."

"We're protective with good reason. She's been through hell with that loose screw mother of hers and her equally crazy relatives on that side of the fence."

"So you let her think she's one of the guys and you encourage she wears boyish, ill fitting clothes." Troy couldn't smother the disapproval in his tone over that kind of reasoning. Whichever angle he views it, they were being iniquitous to Gabriella by not allowing her to experience what any other eighteen year old girl should be experiencing as part of growing up.

"It's safer for her that way. Besides, if a guy really likes her, how she dresses is irrelevant . . ." Jason turned his head to give him a knowing look that suggested neither disappointment nor irritation to what he believed was Troy's opinion of Gabriella fashion choices. "You dislike how she dresses."

Although not denying that plainly stated allegation, Troy felt he had to defend his liking of Gabriella since Jason made it sound like he's someone who's faking his interest on his sister. "_Only_ how she dresses because I believe she should dress appropriately for a girl of her age." When Jason merely shrugged at that, he added, "You don't seem too concerned that I like her. Am I right to assume you trust me with your sister?"

"Heck, no!" was the fervent denial. Jason even had to stifle a laugh, sliding down as far as the seat would allow so as not to alert anyone of their unwanted presence in the auditorium.

"Then your friendliness with me doesn't really add up to that distrust." Troy snapped suddenly irritated to be bluntly told he wasn't trusted. Though he knew that he shouldn't take offense to such an honest admission because of who he is in relation to them and he's as equally mistrusting of people by nature, for some irrational reason he couldn't seem to accept that admission from Jason. "Why aren't you telling me off Gabriella? Warning me or whatever it is you do to the guys who show interest in her?"

"Are you kidding me? You're no threat." Jason gave him a look of clear astonishment that suggested the reason should be very obvious therefore his annoyance is unjustifiable. "You won't be here long enough to cause us worry. Don't get me wrong though . . . for a rich kid, you're cool. Very cool and I'm not just saying that to soothe your ego. Me and the guys enjoy hanging with you, but let's face it, you'll leave soon . . . you're not from around here—"

Going on and on, Jason hardly detected that Troy had gone very quiet and in fact had zoned the rest of his words out. One thing alone kept repeating in Troy's head, _you'll leave soon. You'll leave soon. _It was a reminder, unconsciously given.

There was no choice to that truth. He'll leave soon. He _had_ to leave soon. But it was as if he'd blocked his sole reason for extending his stay here, having had too much to cope with along with everything else. He wasn't saving money anymore or at least making an effort to save his earnings which was his primary goal for finding employment. It isn't just about Gabriella anymore either, although she plays a very big pulling force. He'd gotten so at home in the apartment, in the neighbourhood, in the work place , with Jason's wide range of friends that the purpose for his stay in the slums of Albuquerque blurred as soon as he started adjusting.

Shocking as it'll be to the people in his social circle, but he's happy being here. He feels fulfilled with his hard earned money from working at the diner. He discovered he can be responsible and can survive with very little stuff or comfort. He's friends with people who don't know who he really is yet welcomed him into their circle as him. He thinks it's amazing to be a part of Gabriella's odd family and being suddenly reminded all of that is temporary, he's naturally very reluctant to let go.

Feeling a light nudge to his side, Troy turned his attention back at Jason in time to catch him say, "There's Gabriella—I thought she's Peter Pan?"

Looking ahead to the stage where Jason was transfixed and hearing the drama teacher, Miss Darbus, call out Gabriella's name to give her a few instructions, Troy's eyes widened and his mouth parted when Gabriella moved forward and began to sing.

She was clad in a tiny fitted green dress that bared a good amount of the skin of her shoulders and legs—skin that looked as flawless as her face and glowed with health under the glare of the stage lights, shoulders that could be the envy of a runway model, body that was perfectly formed, and those stunning legs that's as perfect as the rest of her. Seeing her, she looked like a revelation, like she peeled away all the offending layers that were hiding her perfection. And she was breathtakingly sexy that he was torn whether to stay where he was and be content just to ogle her or run up the stage and cover her up because there were at least four other males, including Jason, gaping in open admiration and astonishment at what she dared to display and she didn't seem to be aware of the effect she has on others.

In the end, the decision was taken away from him by Jason's surprisingly strong hand clamped on his arm to restrain him from moving, he stayed put on the seat and was told repeatedly not to make any sudden noise without him registering any of the words. His eyes, his every sense were glued to the stage, to Gabriella, to how she looked, to her wonderful singing voice . . .

She was making him act out of character, making him behave like a sex starved idiot because, seeing her without her mannish clothes, the reason for her appeal finally dawned on him. She belongs to the rare kind of women whose natural beauty would always outshine any frame and any physical flaw.

And he knew . . . he was beyond all hope of reclaim.

He doesn't just like her. He wants her. Wants her like no other. It was a frustrating situation because he knows she's an innocent . . . a virgin and that alone is not a reason to stop him but by way of Lucille, his gracious host, she's off limits to him.

Hours later, climbing the stairs to the second floor of the apartment building with Jason and Gabriella involved in a lively chatter and himself . . . lagging behind, mind floating, speechless and unable to believe Gabriella was back to her usual get up, not a hint of her feminine curves on display.

"Hey Troy, you alright?" Jason called his attention before opening the apartment door. Gabriella was also looking at him strangely. "You look lost, man."

Breathing deep to regain a little mental equilibrium, he nodded and said, "I'm fine. You both go ahead. I'm just gonna get some air."

"Okay." The siblings said in unison and Troy turned away.

As Gabriella expected, he was at the roof top standing in one corner, a leg prop up on the raised edge of the roof. His hands were tucked in his pants pocket and he was staring out but she had a feeling, quietly observing him, he wasn't really seeing anything. His profile suggested he was deep in thought and she wondered if it had anything to do with his father.

Or maybe he was thinking his time with living the poor life is almost up and he was deciding how best to tell them.

The earlier conversation with Kelsi in mind, Gabriella moved out of the shadows alerting Troy of her presence and she stopped about an arm's length beside him before she gently spoke, "I know you don't talk about your family but I'm sure you miss them already. Your dad, whatever rift you had with him, is probably worried sick about you." She half turned to look at him and she saw his face harden it was almost scary to look at. But she forged on. She felt it her duty to let him know that, no matter how difficult it is for her, he needn't hesitate on their account. He owes them nothing except gratitude. "You got on nicely here and I've gotten used to having you around but . . . this isn't your life. Your life is in L.A. with your family, your friends. You must miss them terribly."

A long silence ensued and just when Gabriella thought he won't say anything, not even to acknowledge her presence, he came out with, "I never heard you sing before tonight . . . you have a beautiful voice, Gabriella."

"I—what?" She frowned at him. He was dropping the subject again.

His head turned her way and in all seriousness told her, "That was a compliment."

"O-okay." Disconcerted at first, she felt her cheeks warm but quickly recalled the manoeuvre he often employs to waylay her from discussing at length his family connections. She planted both hands on her hips as she whirled to face him, a stubborn tilt to her chin. "Just so you know, I'm starting to feel stupid talking to you about one thing and you're talking to me about another matter entirely. It won't be a strike against your macho image if you admit to missing your father. You can't go on like this indefinitely, you know. You need your family. We all do."

"My macho image is perfectly intact." He assured with dismissive cool but his cyan eyes were trained to her face with something akin to irritation. "What bothers me more is how it's always so difficult to get a compliment through to you and expect a proper reaction. Usually the women I know fall all over their feet just to get me to single them out and say something resembling a compliment."

"I'm not one of those women." She snapped.

"And thank God for that!" In a sudden move that surprised her, Troy took a step to close the space separating them and gently grabbed hold of her hands.

Disappointed and hurt, whether or not she had a right to be, by his relief that she does not qualify to be among the women he knew and obviously prefers, she snatched her arm from his grasp and turned on her heel to leave but not before saying, "Until I came to live with Lucille, I had neither expected nor received anything much in the way of praise in my life. What I didn't know I didn't miss. So pardon me for not swooning to your compliments!"

Large, strong hands seized her by the waist from behind and pulled her back before she could take another step. "Let go of me!" Gabriella fumed, spinning around to face him, eyes flashing angry gold and pushing against his hard chest. _Kelsi was right._ "What do you want from me? An apology for who I am? An apology for not reacting correctly to your compliment?—which, by the way, I know you only mentioned to stop me from talking about your father!"

"That's a sad thing to say, Gabriella," He was the model of unfazed, unaffected charm and he was holding her against his bigger frame like he has no plans of letting her go, making Gabriella squirm to get away even more. He held firm though until she gave up struggling and simply stood immobile, glaring at him. But he cut short her ire by smiling. "Please believe me when I say, you have a beautiful voice."

"Thanks." She sounded ungrateful but she didn't care. Gabriella glanced away, doing her best to shrug off the odd attraction. They were an unlikely match. While it's true opposites may attract, she supposed they rarely stayed together. And there's no other pair more opposite than Troy and herself. She forced to stay still as stone in the circle of his arms, though the yearning to bolt away was fairly overwhelming.

"And you are beautiful, Gabriella . . ." A hand reached up to gently turn and tip her chin up so that she would look to him again. With a handsome smile, he let his eyes slowly roam her face, her stoic face gave way to feeling flustered, then he emphasized quietly, "Very beautiful."

That single compliment from Troy said with an intimacy that made her breathing shallow had a quite disproportionate effect on her; she forgot her anger and in it's place, a warm squishy feeling. _Very beautiful._ At that moment, looking unimpressive and boyish as she does, even if she had been wearing a sack, she would have stayed dressed in it to please him.

And, had she had sufficient nerve, she would have made him list every single other tiny thing he liked about her but conversely, a childhood of being told not a single compliment—except as a joke to see if she's stupid enough to believe it—and a long list of shortcomings especially about her looks, makes it difficult for her to wholly welcome such things. "No, please, don't embarrass me by saying—"

Troy made an impatient sound, cutting her off and very softly he said to her, "I told myself that I won't do this but . . . resisting temptation is a lesson I have yet to learn." Something struck him then. He'd never gone to such trouble before. Never had to think too much about women. What he wanted, he got. Women always said yes and he gets them in spades. It was always easy. But this . . . the most chaste kiss he's about to give was proving to be a challenge to his self control.

As a young child, Gabriella learned the futility of excessive anticipation and worry when she was powerless to alter things. She knew what was to happen next so when Troy's lips lightly brushed hers she forced not to shy away from it, mentally convincing herself that her first kiss is not that big of a deal.

But when Troy's hands suddenly cradled her head and his fingers knotted through the silken strands of hair angling her head to receive the next brush of his lips, no words could connect now.

He took her mouth with tormenting expertise but in slow, exciting degrees as if cautious not to overwhelm her with his carnal desire lest he scares her. His wonderful lips brushed here and there, shaping, caressing, feeling. Then she felt his thumb gently push down on her chin and he whispered against her lips, "Open your mouth for me, Gabriella."

And she did.

Troy reclaimed her mouth immediately not giving her time to think. The tip of his tongue made a gentle foray between her parted lips and Gabriella heard her startled gasp, assailed suddenly by electrifying sensations from the caress of his tongue into the soft interior of her mouth. Every new sensation a welcome discovery. Every nerve in her body coming slowly alive at the sensual onslaught. Every brain cell she possessed shutting down.

It was like every kiss she had ever dreamt and never received. It was every romantic kiss she's ever read in books and tried to imagine. It was happening and inexperience was no hindrance to her instinctive response. Underneath her loose cotton shirt her heart was beating very fast with something between fear and elation but of its own volition the tip of her tongue uncertainly tangled with his and withdrew sharply as she heard Troy emit a tortured groan, then without warning released his hold on her, pulling away.

Dazed, her legs feeling like overcooked pasta, Gabriella fought to gather her wits. She saw Troy open his mouth about to speak, but nothing came out. He stared at her for a suspended moment and shook his head not knowing what to say. She doesn't know what to say either and her first concern at the moment is to normalize her breathing so she waited.

Finally, he found his voice. "You—are an indulgence I should not allow myself to have. I'm sorry."

Gabriella was shattered.

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. But my files were corrupted and I lost everything!-even the chapter for TSM. Urrgh! I had to start all over again and in my frustration it took me longer to finish writing the chapter. Thanks to everyone of my readers for being so patient.


	8. Chapter 8 Believe

Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

Grimly, for his peace of mind as well, Troy tried not to allow himself thinking about the way he felt when he kissed Gabriella two nights ago and what he said afterwards—which he instantly regretted but couldn't take back much as he wanted to.

A cad, that's him.

'_Douche bag'_, Sigh, from the diner, had said after—having been eaten by guilt and desperate to confide in someone, anyone—Troy told him using the lame _there's_ _this friend of mine_ line to throw suspicion off him.

Sigh sighing quite heavily and even shaking his head in disapproval at the aforementioned friend further convinced Troy of how insensitive he had been to Gabriella's feelings.

He thought with real loathing of all the people responsible for ensuring that she had such a low to zero opinion on her attractions—her cold, critical and lacking in maternal instinct mother, her sarcastic and psychotic relatives, not to mention being treated like she's a tomboy and then he just about nailed the coffin by that tactless comment after he kissed her.

_Bastard_.

Having had much practice in his youth, he's usually adept at dealing with girls. Girls who work to be alluring for his benefit and who put out their considerable charms to seduce him. He knows how to handle affairs, messy entanglements and partings. He knows just the right amount of tact to exercise in such situations but with Gabriella . . . everything seems so new. It's almost like learning how to relate with the opposite sex all over again because she's that different.

She doesn't fall into a certain label. She doesn't act the way other women of his acquaintance do, yet amazingly, she's the only female he knows that can stir both his libido and his conscience in an all out war.

Was he her first kiss? He wished was because everything else aside that was the first and only arousingly sweet, emotionally driven kiss he'd ever given any woman and he was quite, quite certain, like himself, Gabriella was well affected by it too. At the same time, he wished he wasn't her first because no matter how wonderful that kiss was, he ended it badly. In fact, it was surprising that she didn't see fit to slap him . . . something he richly deserves.

She didn't say anything but it was disconcerting to see how her eyes showed a dazed look right after their kiss which turned to hurt as his words sank in then quickly became shadowed as though she didn't want him to suspect just how hurt she really is. And as she turned on her heel, leaving him standing there like an idiot, he was forced to acknowledge how much he really wanted Gabriella. So much that it's been driving him crazy, making him an insensitive boor, physically paining him, to deny that want.

What the hell was wrong with him? While it's true that Gabriella possessed a mouth that promised—and he'd proven to be true—erotic delights, she was lacking in the worldliness he'd often preferred in women. But it seems he overlooked that fact and instead was drawn to her fresh and charming attractions and every other trait or quirk she has that he couldn't help but find endearing.

His change of preference would have been all right and understandable after years of meaningless dalliances but what was surprising about his stay in the slums and his friendship with Gabriella is that his hopelessly dormant conscience was awakened and then asserted itself. And being forced to deal with a sudden attack of conscience, he's stuck which way to go . . . take what he wants from Gabriella or respect the boundaries.

"What the hell is that?" Jason exclaimed as Troy crossed the door of the apartment, pointing aghast at the squirming bundle held in his arms.

"A dog." He said, choosing to be oblivious to the appalled tone. "Sigh found it outside the diner diving through trash."

"I can see it's a dog! A very round dog!"

"So why ask?" Troy moved further into the apartment heading to the small room through the kitchen where the washer was and started filling a small round tub with water to bathe the dog. It was giving off an irritating smell from diving dumpsters.

"If Sigh found it, he should keep it! Why did you bring that here?" Jason demanded stomping in his wake.

"It's a stray and it's hungry." Crouching down, Troy set about cleaning the protesting animal with a firm command to stay still which was met with a whine but was otherwise followed. "Pets aren't allowed where Sigh stays."

Groaning, Jason slapped a palm to his forehead as he looked on Troy calmly soaping the dog. "And you're the noble one to take on the dog but this just isn't done! You're missing the concept here."

Looking over his shoulder to Jason pacing outside the threshold, he repeated quizzically, "Concept?"

"Don't play dumb." Came the irate reply.

"Don't know how." Troy drawled lazily, his attention intent on the dog. "You lost me, Jason."

Emitting an exaggerated sigh of irritation, Jason spoke with hand gestures like a raconteur on a stage, "A stray—you—doesn't bring in another stray to care for! It's bad enough that Gabriella is a pushover for every stray within twenty feet of her but you too? This place isn't pet rehab! And look at that animal—it's so _rotund_—legs short and pudgy, belly sagging to the floor. That looks more pig than dog. No one in their right mind will offer a home for that!"

"You sound like a hysterical miss." Troy retorted as he calmly continued tending to the dog. "Gaston won't bother you. He's a fairly even tempered sort, so relax."

"Gaston? You call that pudgy animal Gaston?—"

"Would you be happier if I call him Piglet?"

"Don't go sarcastic on me. You've gone crazy, Bolton." Jason glared down at Troy then at Gaston before stalking off.

An hour later, cleaned, fed and settled next to the couch where Troy sleeps, quite unconcerned of Jason's disgusted grumbles and shooting glares, Gaston dozed.

"Where's Gabriella?" Troy asked as he sat on the couch next to Jason who was flicking the remote, unable to clamp down on his curiosity any longer. Her room was closed but no light was peeking through the cracks and since it was unlikely that she's asleep at seven in the evening, it only means she's out . . . again.

And he was worried . . . again.

"Kelsi's. Sleep over."

Troy said nothing. Well, he should have expected that. Gabriella wasn't exactly ignoring him—though their conversations of late are somewhat stilted—but it was obvious that she limits their interaction to a minimum.

He'd have to apologize as soon as possible . . . though, to be honest, he's dreading to do it. Mainly because he can't know for sure how Gabriella will take it. He desperately wants her to forgive him, of course, but at the same time he doesn't think he deserves to be forgiven.

Damn, if that made sense. His logic seems to be muddled up since he realized he wanted Gabriella and that he can't have her.

The few minutes of silence except for the sounds from the television was broken by a frantic pounding of the door. Both heads turned at the sound but Troy stood since Jason either decided to playing deaf or just didn't want to detach himself from the television to see who was making the racket like there was an emergency.

As soon as he swung open the door, Troy was gripped by the wrist and yanked outside which left no time for him to resist or steady himself. "Hey!—what the—Kelsi?"

"I'll explain on the way. Thank God it's you and not Jason." Kelsi did not let go of his wrist and before he could fully recover his balance, was practically dragging him forward in a surprisingly strong grip for such a small person.

"On the way to where?" They were literally flying down the stairs and he couldn't wrest free from Kelsi's hold on him. Then he remembered what Jason said and instantly his voice was sharp. "Why aren't you with Gabriella? Jason said you're having a sleep over."

"We were but it was also a convenient excuse because she had a date to go to." Kelsi rushed, not breaking her stride and Troy detected real cause for worry in her tone. "Jason, Chad and Lucille needn't find out."

He flicked his wrist and grabbed hold of Kelsi's, forcing her to stop and look at him. Troy was taken aback by the tears in her eyes and he could feel worry and anger pushing from her tiny frame in waves. "A _date_? A date!" He practically shouted and had to reign in his voice when Kelsi flinched. "Something happened to Gabriella . . ." He breathed, suddenly alarmed, guilty, and the first spurts of anger slowly crawled over him even as he has yet to hear what went wrong. "Tell me."

"Steven—he's a jock . . . football—asked her out yesterday. Gabriella declined because we thought he was joking. We even laughed it off. He never showed any interest in her unlike some of the other guys. He prefers blondes and usually dates cheerleaders but he was so persistent and though we were sceptical . . . I convinced her to accept—No, wait. Let me finish, Troy!" Kelsi held out a hand as Troy's expression grew darker and harder and almost scary, as if he was ready to bite her head off for pushing Gabriella to date. But she was furious with him as well and she refused to be intimidated. She strode off again and ranted while he kept apace, "I told her to accept because of you!" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "She told me what happened the other night—"

"Is there anything she doesn't tell you about me?"

"None. We're best friends. We tell each other things." Kelsi snapped as if to imply Troy was ignorant about what it means to have a close friend. "And as I was about to say, I hate you for what you did!"

His face remained hard and he kept his gaze ahead. "I regret what I did—"

Kelsi made a slashing motion in the air with her hand. "_How could you kiss her then insult her after? _I expected more from you, you know. I thought you genuinely liked her."

"I do." He gritted. "Genuinely."

"Bah! You're lucky I haven't told her brothers and Lucille."

Troy had nothing to say against that and if possible he grew even more angry and guilty at his own person. It was his fault. He looked away from Kelsi's sideways accusing glare.

"I want her to get over that night, to stop thinking about you and what you did! So going on a date with a handsome jock who is reputed to be a decent enough fellow, popular and smart seems like not a bad thing . . ."

"Only you found out differently." Troy finished, having a fair idea where this is heading and his hands fisted, imagining it wrapped around the neck of this Steven person. "What did he do to her? Did he hurt her?"

"Taylor overheard Tamsin—she's a cheerleader and Steven's ex—saying that Steven only asked Gabriella out as a dare before she agrees to date him again. Part of the dare Tamsin put to Steven is getting to kiss Gabriella during the date and then telling her that the whole date is a stupid dare! Can you imagine how she'll feel when she finds out? She was excited about this date. It's her very _first_ date." Kelsi huffed working on a fine fury and striding on the street like an avenging angel out for her prey. "Tamsin even said that Gabriella's IQ should've told her that her poor looks wouldn't cut it with Steven and that if her IQ is so superior she should've known she was being set up . . ." She took a deep heaving breath to control her resentment. "I would like nothing right now than to beat Tamsin's skinny hide but the date should be stopped before Steven can do anymore damage to Gabriella and since Jason and Chad can't know about this," She again pointed a finger at Troy. "I need you to beat him into a bloody pulp!"

"You don't have to ask twice." Troy growled and took off with Kelsi leading the way. He's never beaten anyone into a bloody pulp but he's thinking this Steven guy might just be the first.

They found Steven without Gabriella, after several failed locations, on the street where he lives which happens to be close to Kelsi's residence. With a verbal trashing from Kelsi about '_guys who take advantage_', '_can't think for themselves_', and '_not fit to be let out in decent society_' coupled with a single jaw breaking punch from Troy—Kelsi changed her mind about beating the guy into a bloody pulp—Steven lost his smugness and told them that Gabriella took off somewhere after he'd accomplished the dare and that he was sorry.

The insincerity in the 'sorry' was fairly obvious and Troy just couldn't resist delivering another punch which landed squarely on Steven's left eye.

Having socked Steven's left eye and satisfied that the guy was in pain and will sport a black eye for sometime, Troy turned to Kelsi, his face a dark mask of fury, and spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, "I'll find her. Go home."

* * *

"If you give me a chance, I'll apologize." As far as opening salvos go, Troy wasn't sure how that one did but finally finding Gabriella after almost an hour of searching, he was overcome with relief that he didn't care much if he rates poorly.

Gabriella paused mid-step and looked up to see Troy standing about two steps in front of her, his face grim, his breathing a bit laboured like he'd been running. She glared at him because he's the last person he wants to see right now. "Don't bother. I understand perfectly." She'd had enough disappointments for one day after finding out Steven's motive for showing interest in her. Cutting a path across the deserted park even if she knew the dangers lurking within was her way of calming her rioting emotions before going back to Kelsi's house. She feels pathetic enough as it is and hearing Troy's apology for the kiss two nights ago is not something she wants to hear or deal with right now . . . maybe not ever. "I don't need your pity. Leave me alone."

"I can't." He said sounding like he was admitting a tragedy. "I tried, believe me, but with you it's not as easy as I thought."

_Troy is accustomed to sophisticated women and none of those worldly women would have made a fool of themselves in his presence as you did._ That's the first thought that pops into her head every waking hour since that kiss at the rooftop and seeing him only reinforces that notion which was why she's been avoiding him. But here he is, standing in front of her, looking determined to block her way and stop her from avoiding him until he gets whatever it is he wants to say off his chest.

"Gabriella, the very last thing you inspire in me is pity."

"Why should I believe that?" She scoffed but there was a slight trembling in her voice from keeping her emotions in check. "Just an hour ago I've made a laughingstock of myself for believing my date actually likes me when the truth is he only asked me out because his gorgeous ex girlfriend dared him to humiliate me first before she takes him back!"

"He's a fool—"

"No! I'm the fool." She jerked her gaze away from his penetrating eyes and dropped her arms. She's suffered a good deal of humiliation with Steven already. Breaking down in front of Troy would not help her lagging pride so she tried to hold on to anger. But she was failing. "I've always been a fool."

"No you're not." He insisted. "Steven is the fool and I'd punch him again if it will make you feel better but I realize now I'm a bigger fool than he is."

Her eyes flew back to him and widened when she saw he wasn't kidding about what he just admitted to doing. "You punched Steven? How did—Why?"

He recapped what happened. Gabriella was incredulous at first then she felt embarrassed that several people already knew of her humiliation with Steven. "You shouldn't have done that." She quietly told him, feeling twice as forlorn. Going to East High will be a tedious experience because of her stupidity.

Troy shook his head, disagreeing. "I did what Chad or Jason would have done."

Gabriella glared at him again. "You're not my brother, Troy."

"I'm not and I don't want to be a brother to you."

"You're not anything to me!"

"I'm your stray and strays stick to their keeper." He was so composed and so serious when he said it that Gabriella swallowed the unwanted laughter bubbling from her and wondered what's really going on inside his head.

His tone was firm as if he actually believed what he was saying and is determined to make her believe it too. She doesn't know what his game is or if he's suddenly having an attack of conscience for kissing her after Kelsi raged at him and then finding out about Steven's plan but Gabriella was really at a low point. She doesn't have the energy to be patient or condescending. She refuses to listen to his explanation. She refuses to be convinced. "That's nonsense."

"No, hear me out please." He pleaded and Gabriella was surprised to hear a note of desperation in his voice. She tried to ignore it. She just wants to be alone but Troy kept on talking, giving her no choice but to listen. "There are people who take just for the sake of taking, who leap without looking and I'm one of them. But being like that, imagine wanting someone so bad . . . who's just within your reach but circumstances prevents you from freely taking. Makes you wish things are not the way they are because the wanting, the longing tears you up inside."

"I don't know why you're telling me this." She whispered, unsure if she was hearing and interpreting his words correctly.

Troy was surprising himself as much as Gabriella. He isn't the type that goes out of his way to explain or reach out to people. He found it easier to be silent or sarcastic than candid where emotions are concerned but with Gabriella, in this instance, he was desperate to make her understand why he did what he did. "I want you to understand I'm no saint, Gabriella. I couldn't help myself from kissing you so I did just that. It was what I've been wanting to do ever since you helped me convince Lucille to let me stay. But for the first time, my long dead scruples reasserted itself and I felt like an interloper, taking advantage of you, of Lucille's trust . . . the thing is, though, I still want to kiss you. I want to do more than just kiss you."

She was frowning now. Aghast, fascinated and in disbelief all at once to hear what he was saying to her. This is Troy like she's never seen him before. This is Troy like she never once expected him to be and finding words to say back to him proved a bit impossible so all she could do was stare incredulously speechless, which was a good thing too because it appears he wasn't finished talking and, despite her reservations about believing him, Gabriella wanted to hear more.

"When I look at you I see a very lovely woman who behaves as if she's plain and ordinary. At the hospital that night we met, I was struck by your expressive eyes. Then at the diner, I saw a flawless face with amazing bone structure and with a full, kissable mouth. Right then and there, even if I didn't know it at that time, I was already getting attracted to you. I was enraptured by your intelligence and your guileless charm. You revealed yourself to me little by little. I was hooked. And before I knew what was happening I was having a daily battle with temptation and my conscience."

Flabbergasted, she absently shook her head in denial. "I'm not even pretty, Troy, so don't—"

Troy was getting frustrated by her stubbornness. It's never been this difficult before to convince a girl he finds them attractive. Usually a wink does the job and those girls even with their designer clothes and make up aren't even half as attractive as Gabriella is! But the difference between those girls with Gabriella is that she matters to him. He has to make her believe him so he stood his ground and said, "I never thought of you as anything other than beautiful."

He was looking at her with a wondering appreciation as though to tell her other than words that he sees her as an amazingly gorgeous woman when she herself knows she's nothing remarkable. Gabriella was getting flustered. She was thankful that the part where they stood was far from the light posts scattered in the park because against her will, she was fiercely blushing. She didn't want Troy to see how his words were affecting her.

"That's even harder to believe." She mumbled, trying very hard not to be swayed into believing him.

He actually let her see his annoyance this time but when Gabriella looked up he was grinning charmingly as if he knew it would take little effort now to really convince her. "You're a very intelligent girl, Gabriella, but your fixation about being plain is really stupid."

"I don't see you as a superior being or even as royalty but in terms of cold hard cash and social status, you might as well be superior and royal." She lifted her chin, trying to seem affronted. She decided she didn't like him grinning at her. She's always been taken by his smiles and it might just easily accomplish what his fervent speech didn't. She isn't about to let herself fall head first this time. Her mother taught her that lesson and just a few hours ago Steven reminded her again. "How can someone like you who belongs in a class of his own be attracted to me? Guys like you gravitate towards classically beautiful women."

"And you happen to know so much about guys like me . . ."

Without thinking, she took a step forward to jab a finger to his chest, taking exception to his subtle sarcasm. "I maybe inexperienced and less worldly than you but I'm not stupid."

"You're not stupid. You're _being_ stupid and stubborn." Troy clarified, his smile widening. "You're a victim of your own conditioning."

"Don't talk semantics to me." She snapped but she knew the sturdy foundations of her resentment and determination not to believe him had been blown to smithereens. She couldn't hold on to anger of whatever kind any longer and the truth is there isn't any reasonable excuse she could think of not to believe him.

"There's only so much a man fighting his desire down can take . . . and I've had enough of this."

In an instant he closed the small space between them by tugging her forward before his mouth clamped over hers. His objective was to take her by surprise and not give her time to think or protest and he achieved exactly that. Gabriella's lashes lifted over wide eyes and she met with smouldering dark blue ones that mesmerized her against her better judgment. Her blood leapt and her heart raced like a maddened thing.

Troy lifted his mouth a fraction to smile at her. Gabriella felt suddenly dizzy and breathless and dispossessed of all rational thought and emotional reservation. She wants nothing else than to be kissed by him. When his fingertip stroked her pouting lower lip and huskily urged her, '_Open your mouth for me, Gabriella. I want to taste you again', _she complied willingly.

It was unexpected, possessive, demanding and reassuring. Slowly, surely all her fears, insecurities and even her common sense trickled away and she was pulled into the erotic kiss that was determined to chop down all her defences. Gabriella knew it was mad and stupid and dangerous for her peace of mind to let Troy go on but for once in her life she didn't care.

She likes him, wants him and she's tired of making excuses for her feelings. _I never thought of you as anything other than beautiful._ Honeyed words and God help her . . . but she believes him. She's finally letting herself see the weeks that passed with open eyes. Every look, every touch, every gift meant something. He was telling her without words how much he likes her.

Troy felt her relax and lean into him. He almost groaned in relief. He drew her much closer. The need to taste her mouth overwhelmed him. He knew it was totally wrong to be kissing her like this in a public park where anyone can see them but he didn't care. He couldn't stop. And for the sake of sanity, he needs to _feel_ Gabriella like this, to let his passion engulf them both, ignite hers and for the moment forget the wide chasm between their lives.

His kiss was long, deep and leisurely exploring, savouring the sweetness and the warm nectar of her mouth. She was a helpless victim to it. She was sinking like a novice swimmer out on sea. Her body quivered and Troy's arms slid around her, moulding her pliant body to his hardening one.

It seems for long minutes Troy's kiss was to discover, to taste. With his tongue, he traced the outline of her parted lips, gently biting the lush lower lip in a way that made desire wash over her. He carefully slipped his tongue inside the sweet cavern of her mouth—not even demanding that she respond—but simply exploring, discovering and acquainting himself to the soft warmth inside. To Gabriella, it was as if he was learning every crevice of her mouth to strategize for the next time that he kisses her . . . and the silent message was that there will be a next time.

Then without warning the kiss went from exploratory to desirous. And Gabriella, overwhelmed, bewildered and inexperienced that she is, was swept away by his tongue sliding effortlessly within the silken confines of her parted mouth.

A slow spreading fire started to lick through her body. A low quiver started from her nape where his hand had been gently caressing, going down to her breasts making them feel heavy, aching all of a sudden, then the arousing heat pooled between her thighs that made her knees weak.

Whether for support or to feel more of him, Gabriella felt herself move, pressing even closer to the lean strength of his muscled chest, arms snaking up to curl over his sculpted shoulders. She felt her mouth move, open wider to welcome his onslaught. She felt herself start to kiss him back, acting on pure instinct and languorous desire to duel her tongue with his. She felt the hunger deep within her begin to swell then overflow until she no longer knew anything but Troy.

Low, moans were ensuing from her throat but she couldn't stop them. Her will was taken over. She was in thrall of every sensation Troy's kiss was awakening.

Troy's blood was roaring in his ears. He was supposed to be in charge of their kiss. He was supposed to consider they were in a public place but he hadn't counted on his control to quickly slip from him just as Gabriella became pliant and responsive in his arms. He deepened the kiss further and his hands glided up her slim back to cup her face then thread his fingers through her silky curls urging her to participate more and give him back kiss for kiss.

And she didn't disappoint. It's as if fire was consuming them both and Troy sensed a passion and a wildness in Gabriella just waiting to be let go, which made him kiss her even harder to push her over the edge. God, how he wished they're somewhere private, somewhere comfortable, somewhere with access to a soft bed . . .

The need for air was the only reason why he lifted his lips from hers. The rasp of his breath was echoed by her own and when slowly she lifted her heavy lashes, his glittering gaze pinned her dazed eyes with unwavering intensity, desire blatantly stamped there. "Tell me you believe me." He whispered huskily.

It was an effort to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth and she had to swallow hard to find her voice and even then she sounded squeaky but she held his gaze, mentally damning whatever the ramifications of her decision, while telling him, "I believe you."

Because just this once, while the opportunity is presented to her on a silver platter, she wants to feel beautiful. She wants to be treated like she's someone special. She wants to experience romance of her own and not through her romance books.

She's the fair maiden and Troy is prince charming. As she felt his arms tighten around her and she rested her head below his chin feeling the warm body and the steady beat of his heart, Gabriella let herself believe it's true.

* * *

She wrestled with her decision for weeks. She weighed the pros and cons exhaustively and to the best of her knowledge. She endured several sleepless nights thinking if she was doing the right thing, not just for her but for everyone concerned.

She has nothing against him. After all, it became obvious to her he has absolutely no idea who she is. For him to end up with them was probably fate pulling a prank on her. Naturally, she didn't think that was funny but she's honest enough to admit, she's grown to care for him already. He proved himself capable of accepting and handling the difficulties that came his way, even those that she deliberately put to him. He's an admirable young man.

Much as she hates to acknowledge it, but he's nothing like his parents.

He has staying power and to her amazement, it looked like he's actually enjoying himself living the poor life. But, fact remains, he doesn't belong with them. She may not be a real parent to any of her kids but she could imagine what a parent would feel like if he lost a kid. That's why for the good of everyone involved and for her peace of mind, she's doing what she swore for twenty years she'd never do again.

With trembling hands, she picked up the phone and dialled. She took several deep breaths to settle her nerves but when the line was answered, she very nearly dropped the phone in panic. But she managed to state her purpose and who she was in a calm and concise tone.

She was told to wait. She said her thanks to the female voice on the line who was putting her call through the person she wanted to speak with. It wasn't long before she was confronted by her past.

"Lucille." Came the gruff but with a hint of awe greeting, making her grip the phone even harder as she heard the still achingly familiar voice.

She took another calming breath and spoke, "Jack . . ."

* * *

_A/N: Major apology for this one. Too much on my plate lately. Apart from work, I'm studying again so it's really difficult to find time for this. Thank you to everyone who supports this story. I hope you'll stretch your patience with me. _

_~mich_


	9. Chapter 9 Relationships

Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All creative rights to the characters in this story related to High School Musical belong to its original creators. Any other names, places or events that may have similarity to existing/actual names, places or events is purely coincidental and the use of such is for the purpose of this story alone. Lastly, the author does not, in any way, profit from this story._

* * *

_She was a bundle of nerves. A feeling long since felt that she realized she was fidgeting like a young adult faced with an enormous task ahead . . . or better yet, facing her worst nightmare come to life._

_A handsome nightmare now entering the room provided as her office in the Social Services center and his nightmarish presence further diminishing the already constricted space that she felt there was not enough air for her to breathe. It was utterly ridiculous, of course, and she was annoyed with herself that after all these years—twenty long years—the mere sight of him still affected her so._

_He made his way across the short distance with a well-remembered smooth, animal grace and then he was there, standing just opposite, with her small office desk serving as some sort of divider. Her mind emptied suddenly, the sight of him this close was not something she'd envisioned nor hoped ever happening again. Everything in the room spun out of focus for a few dizzying seconds before she grabbed hold of her wits and violently refocused back on his tall, unsmiling face. _

_She'd regretted making that phone call as soon as it ended. Her only intention for calling had been to inform him where his son is but after answering several questions from him regarding the circumstances that brought Troy to her residence, he'd began arranging to meet with her to discuss the matter in person. She balked, arguing it wasn't necessary to talk face to face and that she'd done her duty as a concerned acquaintance by informing him and there was nothing else to talk about. But he'd overridden all that by saying his son was a 'delicate matter' to be dealt with and that he needed her help._

_Standing from her chair as common courtesy dictates, she noted pristine white shirt with a designer label and black trousers. If he was aiming for casual, he certainly achieved it. She could see no accoutrements that would look like he came from a business agenda across several miles and flew out here on a tight schedule. A thought that made her all the more wary and nervous because she wanted this meeting to be brief . . . very, very brief._

_She squared her shoulders and assumed a polite but detached demeanor that was in contrast to the complicated mix of emotions suddenly shaking up inside her and coolly greeted him, "Jack."_

"_Lucy . . ." He returned huskily._

_The unexpected use of his pet name for her badly dented her composure. Lucille was shocked. Her mouth wobbled. She was transported back in time—happier times, forgotten times—a time she'd be wise not to remember. _

_Something blazed in Jack's eyes at her reaction and he took a step to come closer to where she stood only to stop and tense as Lucille held up a hand to warn him to keep to his side of the room._

"_Troy." She began regaining her equilibrium once more. "You came here to discuss Troy. How do you plan to take him back and away from my niece?"_

* * *

Relationships—for that was what they had and it was the romantic kind as Troy insisted he neither wished nor considered to have a brotherly relationship with her—isn't as easy as she thought it would be. Her love for romance books apparently wasn't adequate to prepare for her relationship with Troy. Not that the idea of being romantically linked to someone ever crossed her mind . . . well, maybe a little wishing here in there of Prince Charming and happily ever after like most young girls . . . but the point is she never aimed nor expected to be in one.

Romance in books as is the same with romance in movies usually give the perception as something nice, uplifting to the heart and leaves a warm fuzzy feeling which is true . . . only up to a certain point. But because no self confessed romance, chick flick lover out there wants to dwell on the depressing scenes, of course, the wonderful scenes are often re-read or replayed. She was no different.

Before Troy came along, she was content to live romance through her books. Unlike most teenagers, she lived without the existence of any romance. Guys just weren't attracted to plain looking girls. Fact of life. So she'd come to accept that romance and anything it entails would probably never figure prominently in her life.

But Troy ran away, got mugged, mistook her for a boy and the rest was history. And here she is holding a handsome guy's gaze while trying hard not to blush as they eyed each other from across the expanse of the modest living room of their neighbour. Her, leaning against the closed bedroom door of her charges who thankfully are peacefully dozing off now. Him, looking like a potentate in casual clothes, seated indolently on the sofa with come-hither eyes silently telling her to move forward and come to him.

She didn't know how she was able to read into his stare and it freaked her out a little that she could but regardless she felt her feet move one in front of the other like she was a puppet being pulled by a puppet master. She couldn't resist him, that much was obvious, and she probably would have died of mortification if Troy wasn't as eager for her.

But, lo and behold, he seems to seriously want her!

She still had her doubts though. It can't really be wiped out on the strength of a few words from a gorgeous male or the fact that the next day after he declared to want her in the park, he picked her up from East High to make sure she was okay and wasn't being bothered by Steven or Tamsin—she was expecting to be taunted by those two and their cronies but surprisingly nothing happened. She was ignored and she had a feeling Troy had something to do with it as well. Kelsi thought so too.

The good thing is recent events made her self confidence gain some ground and her doubt isn't as overwhelming as it used to be. All because Troy seems to know how to make her feel special.

Two days since that fateful night in the park. Two days of heady thrill an effect of subtle touches, secret smiles, meaningful looks and stolen kisses happening under her aunt's roof and mostly in their oblivious presence. Like a secret, forbidden romance or something. She was all together happy, thrilled and scared. Thrilled because she was learning there's some kind of excitement involved with the idea that there's a chance they might be caught by her aunt or her brothers as they sneak around kissing. But she was also scared because if they do get caught, she was afraid the situation might get out of hand. Her aunt for all her kindness and understanding, in an instinctive drive to protect her, might be forced to send Troy away which—aside from her family having a negative feeling or opinion of Troy—is something Gabriella would not like to happen.

That concern though, among others, could not pull her down from the floaty feeling she's in. She feels like she's walking on a cloud of happiness. She's never felt like it before and, for all her doubts, apprehensions and serious consideration of their situation, given a choice, she doesn't want it to end.

She stood before him and Troy smiled. Easily, ignoring her shyness and tension, he spanned her tiny waist and pulled her onto his lap. Gabriella gave a little, muffled shriek of surprise but didn't struggle once he rearranged her on his lap to his liking. She was careful to avoid looking into his eyes, he noticed. And he couldn't help smirking at her timidity.

Since the park, two nights ago, they've kissed several times. Short, hurried mostly and he's been the one to initiate—couldn't help himself and she's either too shy or too worried that they'd be found out—but apart from a healthy frustration which in his opinion is perfectly warranted in their clandestine relationship, he is actually quite happy with what they have together.

Well, he would've preferred not sneaking around but then again he's not in control around here and he had to admit the secrecy added a certain piquancy to his desire . . . so it was a sacrifice worth enduring. Besides that, he's not willing to give up what he just recently acquired. Certainly not if it's something he wants very much.

"Troy . . . the boys might—"

He shook his head, noting her lips were a little tremulous. He loves her lips—told her so several times. He's never seen nor tasted anything so perfect. Pillowy soft, delicately shaped and lusciously pouted that invites one to think it holds delightful promise of pleasure, which it does.

"They're dead to the world." He stated, amused by her shyness.

That was true, of course. The boys sleep like logs but Gabriella felt she should still voice these concerns to him as a reminder that they shouldn't be too careless. It was Troy's idea that she agree to babysit their neighbour's kids so that they can get a few hours alone time. He had his shift at the diner extended until seven o'clock instead of the usual five but told Lucille and Jason that he's on a much later shift. It made it easier for him to head straight to Edna Warren's apartment right across from theirs and spend some private time with her once the boys are asleep. The plan was good, leaving her family unsuspicious, but she couldn't help her apprehensions. She's usually not secretive with her family and the knowledge that she's deliberately hiding things from them made her uncomfortable.

"Edna might—"

"I like it when you blush." He waylaid her worries and gently brushed the knuckles of his right hand across her flushed cheek.

She didn't even realize she was blushing but he must've known she'd forget her worries about getting caught if he called attention to her flustered face. "W-why?"

Shrugging, he trailed a forefinger along her cheekbone. "It's a novel thing for me . . . your innocence. Almost like a child." He grinned as she frowned a little at that statement. "I can't remember knowing a girl who blushed from my attentions. You're also the only girl I know who gives homes to stray animals with homicidal tendencies. Call me crazy but I find it . . . endearing."

She rolled her eyes at him and wiggled off his lap to sit beside him. "If I'm the innocent child here that makes you the adult corrupting my innocence and don't forget you have Gaston. He's a stray too."

"Gaston is fat but not homicidal. And he's useful." Troy reasoned—suppressing a pained groan when she unintentionally wiggled her derrière on that aroused part of him—as he slipped an arm to her shoulders and pulled her closer, thinking instead of his dog's role in providing distraction to Jason. Gaston is a brilliant dog, in his opinion. He can be a handful, difficult and whiny at his command and he's using that to keep Jason from seeking Gabriella and from noticing too much. "You make it sound like I'm a sex offender."

"Are you offended?" She turned her head and smiled cheekily at him.

"Not at all. That sharp witted tongue of yours can hardly belong to a child and besides," Eyes turning dark as it dropped to her lips, he leaned close, lips grazing the outer shell of her ear as he whispered, "you _are_ a willing innocent."

She blushed anew and Troy had to stifle a chuckle as she fought against her flustered feelings by asking in a cavalier manner, "How is Gaston useful?"

"Gaston helps keep Jason occupied . . ." The arm on her shoulder slipped down to span her tiny waist under her oversized shirt and before Gabriella knew what he was about she was hauled back astride his lap. At her gasp, he grinned and went on to say, ". . . so that when I do this," He kissed the corner of her slightly parted mouth. "I won't have to worry about Jason suddenly barging in on us."

He pulled back to grin at her dazed expression and then pressed his lips on hers again, nibbling lightly on her lower lip, a playfully teasing move which sent a faint shiver down her spine. This isn't an urgent, demanding stolen kiss unlike the other times where haste was necessary for discretion. "You should grow your hair." He murmured out of the blue, his ringers threading through her soft hair to angle her head so that her lips became easily accessible to his attention.

It doesn't take much effort from him to make her respond especially when he whispers innocuous yet strangely spine-tingling things like '_you should wear fitted clothes more often_' or '_you have great legs_' but Gabriella fought to keep her wits from slipping. Things may have changed between them but he's still just a temporary guest in her home and more than that, she has no idea what he plans to do in the near future.

Is he staying? For how long? Is he leaving? If so, when? What will happen to them? Also, she still doesn't know a thing about his family life specially his father who's the catalyst for his decision to flee. In all their conversations, Troy asks a lot of questions about her life and her parents which, no matter how ugly a tale, she willingly told him . . . but he shows no inclination to share about his own when it's her turn to ask.

Using her resolve to _know_ more about him since by all accounts they are in a relationship, Gabriella refocused and softly, casually asked against his teasing lips. "Will you tell me about your parents?"

She felt him tense a little but it was quickly shrugged off. "There's not much to tell." Then he pressed his lips back on hers as if to stop further prodding on the subject.

But Gabriella didn't want to be denied this time by his evasiveness. After all that's happened between them, she deserved to know, didn't she? And really what harm is there in letting her know a bit of his family? Couldn't he indulge a healthy dose of curiosity? If currently she's forced to ignorance about what his immediate plans are and whether she's included in those plans or not, this at least was a fair enough trade. Unless for all the time he spent with her and her family . . . he doesn't trust her?

"Troy," She gave him a small smile, looked directly into his intense blue eyes and pressed a finger to his lips to stop from distracting her. "I'd like to know about you too."

Simple, straightforward and none of the irritating feminine wiles most females of his acquaintance used to get him to share his confidence. He kept her gaze for a second or two then slumped back with a heavy, resigned sigh and Gabriella tried to reign in her anticipation lest he change his mind when he senses how eager she is.

"I don't like talking about my family." He confessed looking like he was mentally preparing himself for a distasteful task ahead. "Actually I never discuss my family to anyone."

It couldn't be that big of a deal, isn't it? Her family life isn't picture perfect as well. In fact, it was sad and a riot and tragic what with her father ending up in jail. She doesn't tell every soul either but those she trusts which are few. Gabriella could see Troy wavering and short of holding her breath, she wondered if his parents are just as whacked as hers. Or maybe they're much worse? Just how bad is bad for him to run away? How bad is bad for him to think she's not trustworthy?

What's the point of being boyfriend-girlfriend if one is ignorant about the other's background? Isn't that what relationships are all about? The couples she read in books aim at discovery, at learning about the other person. That's how the characters understand and appreciate one another. It was sensible to assume that was true also in real relationships.

She wanted to assure him that whatever he tells him stays with her, that it couldn't be as bad as her situation had been but she wisely kept quiet, letting him decide to talk or not—to trust her or not. She has no idea where their relationship is heading and she's reluctant to ask. If it is heading somewhere or if it's a temporary thing for him while he's still enjoying being here in the slums. Telling her of his background will, somehow, be a bit of assurance as to his real intention.

"Aren't you familiar with the Bolton name?" He spoke after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

He was going to tell her! And she had to school her features to a studied casualness. Gabriella shook her head slowly. She didn't know why it never occurred to her to search his name over the internet. But she was glad she didn't.

"My father is Jack Bolton, president and CEO of Bolton Enterprises. It's a family owned and controlled conglomerate that's into a diversity of very profitable business ventures. To put it simply, my father is powerful and loaded. My mother Therese was also from a well to do background. She died four years ago. She killed herself." Troy looked up and Gabriella was startled both by the flat announcement of his mother's suicide and the blank look in his eyes, as though he's looking right through her. She kept her silence, not wanting to interrupt and not knowing how. "Like your parents, they didn't get along well. It wasn't a love match either. My late aunt said my parents were casual friends before they got married but whatever relationship they had quickly soured soon after tying the knot. According to my mother, Jack loved someone else. He already proposed to another woman and was ready to plan a wedding but instead, he ended up marrying my mother because he got her pregnant with me. Jack resented marrying her, blamed her for everything that went wrong and he doubted if I was really his son."

Gabriella emitted a choked gasp and on impulse laid a gentle hand on his cheek. Troy reached up and held her hand, turning his head slightly to press a kiss and rub his lightly stubbled cheek on her palm as if to say thanks for empathizing. "The DNA tests proved I am indeed his son but it didn't make any difference in improving my parents' relationship or my relationship with Jack. He was neither sorry for doubting my paternity nor relieved he sired me. Financially he provides well, but he barely acknowledges me or my mother. I was sent away to boarding school at an early age while my parents lived like strangers under one roof. Publicly they acted the married couple, privately they were perfect strangers. There were discreet but numerous extra-marital affairs on both sides. I don't know why they didn't just get a divorce. It would've been much easier for all."

He paused, taking another deep breath probably to fortify himself, then continued. "One day, I came home during a school break and I found my mother had overdosed on sleeping pills while in the bathtub. She drowned." His tone was flat but she could see the pain and anger simmering in his eyes and Gabriella felt her heart pinch at the image of a younger Troy expecting a welcome but instead found his mother dead. Therese Bolton, unlike her own mother, was probably a wonderful, loving parent and she could only imagine what it must have been like for Troy to lose her.

At a loss for words to say, she acted on pure instinct. Her arms slipped over his shoulders as she drew him in an embrace. Was it any wonder why he chose to run away from his father? Sudden tears were blurring her vision as her emotions reached out protectively to him. She shut her eyes to keep the tears at bay, knowing Troy would think of it as pitying him, before she whispered, "I'm sorry . . ."

"It was years ago." He gruffly dismissed but his arms slid around her waist to return the embrace, his face burrowing in the crook of her neck, accepting the comfort she offered. "You know, we're alike somehow . . ." He mumbled after some time.

Pulling back a little to look at him questioningly, she searched his face noting the silhouetted expression in his eyes. "Alike?" She raised askance.

He nodded, his hand lifting to smooth the wisps of curls off the side of her face while her hands remained loosely looped at his nape. "Yes. We both hate one parent and love the other." He explained. "And the one parent we love isn't around. My mother's dead. Your father's in jail. But you're still luckier than I am."

"I am?" Gabriella echoed incredulously, arms falling from his shoulders to her sides. She'd never been called lucky before. If not for his sombre tone and face, she'd think he was kidding her. "I'm luckier because I saw my mother in bed with another man and then saw her get shot by my father?"

Troy shook his head then absently threaded his fingers with hers. "Because even though you lost both parents to death and jail, you have Lucille and she's a great substitute parent."

Gabriella contemplated that for a moment, holding his gaze and his hands. What she saw, once the veiled look lifted a little from him, was need. Need to belong. Need to be recognized, if not loved. Need to be accepted for himself. The same compelling needs she felt when her mother was still alive and was her primary carer, or what was her own brand of caring. And she realized Troy filled all that need while living with them, much like how she felt when Lucille became her guardian.

"Yes, she is." She quietly agreed while a fierce wave of tenderness for him swelled in her heart.

"Whereas, I have my father." Troy closed his eyes and the hands holding hers moved up to cup her jaw, then he leaned his forehead against hers. Gabriella closed her eyes too, savouring the gently caressing touch of his thumbs on her cheeks. "He could learn a thing or two about proper parenting from your aunt. It's unfortunate she doesn't have a child of her own. She'd have been a great mother."

The idea of such a powerful and rich as Croesus man taking tutelage from her prim and financially-lacking aunt made Gabriella giggle. "I'm sure Aunt Lucille will prevail over your father." Then she sobered a little to add, "Lucille's husband, Gary, was diagnosed with cancer a few months after they got married. Having children didn't hold priority as they dealt with Gary's illness which worsened until he died."

"Lucille is an admirable person," Troy avowed with ringing sincerity. "and yes, without a doubt, she will prevail over Jack."

"Even if she has to use a stick to make him listen."

He chuckled, then lapsed silent again. "I wish I didn't have to leave here." He confessed after a while but Gabriella didn't need to hear him say it anymore. She understood him. She understands now why he had kept stall for time, why he didn't make any great effort to save money. He wanted to stay despite the far from luxurious living conditions or the lack of money. He likes living with them. And she likes to think she's one of the reasons for it.

But on the heel of that thought came another. He may not want to go home. She may not want him to leave . . . but he has to. It was the right thing to do. No matter how much he hates his father, as a parent, the man deserved to know where his son is. And Gabriella has a feeling the older Bolton, no matter how horrid he is, must feel a degree of worry searching for his son and only heir.

"But you have to, Troy."

"I know." He agreed quietly, his arms hugging her again and tightening to press her even closer. "But if I leave, I might not come back. I might not be able to. Jack won't let me. He's sending me abroad to finish college."

_And I will no longer see you._ It didn't have to be said. Gabriella knew. They both knew. Him going back home meant they have to end this. Because if they continue with this relationship it will take enormous effort to make it work and distance will be one of many hurdles to overcome. Because instinct and common sense, the reality of their situation, and the wide chasm of their individual lives—present and future—tell her it's not just foolish but also impossible to continue. They each have a life to live and continuing education holds primary importance, especially to her.

And from his brooding silence, she could glean that he knows it too. She can see now it was premature for her to marvel at the sheer rightness of them being in a relationship. The swift downturn caught her unaware, unprepared. The consolation at least, if you can call it that, was having to experience what it was like to be part of a romantic relationship regardless short-lived.

A heavy feeling settled suddenly in her heart as it fought against its own desires and her mind's logic. Gabriella was all too aware of what it means to think with your heart. Her first instinct, by experience, is protecting herself and that means, if she could help it, not invest too much on emotions. As it is, she's already involved with Troy more than she should have allowed but at this early stage she could still rescue her heart from falling out of its safety net.

With great reluctance but prompted to do what is right, she steeled herself and softly spoke, "We probably should—"

"No." Troy abruptly cut her off, surprising her. He pushed her back a little to challenge her with a direct and determined gaze, repeating firmly. "No."

"But, Troy, you have to—"

Feeling her withdrawal, he bit off a curse and halted her objection by capturing her mouth with a hard kiss. Troy felt her shock with his onslaught but he was relieved she didn't struggle. He winded his fingers through her hair, moulding the shape of her head as he plundered her parted lips, every foray of his hot tongue willing her to understand not to think for the moment, telling her not to let go, telling her to give them a chance despite the odds, telling her that he will make everything possible and telling her the depth of his need.

She has a stellar future ahead of her from anyone of the big shot universities she applied to. With her intelligence, it was done deal that she'll be accepted. He was being unfair, he knew, but he wanted to find a compromise.

Her soft hand blindly cradled his cheeks, stroking, gentling him. The light touch tormenting his senses but it made him gentle the kiss a fraction before lifting his mouth an inch to huskily say, "I know I have to go back to my father, Gabriella, but I'm not ready yet. I want to stay here . . . with you."

"I want you to stay too but—"

"No buts." He kissed her once, shifting on the sofa to sit more comfortably while keeping her steady on his lap. He was willing her to be patient with him. He wanted her not to think righteously just this once. He needed more time to consider what best to do because he can't simply accept that once he leaves here this'll all be over. If he has to bargain with Jack to keep Gabriella, he'll do it. The one good thing that happened to him after a series of bad, he refuses to toss away. "If there's a will, there's a way."

"If you say so." She murmured but Troy sensed she was still unconvinced. Apparently her optimism does not extend to this. But he couldn't really blame her. She was careful not to make herself too vulnerable, not to expect too much when chances of anything going her way were slim.

"I say so." He insisted. Now isn't the time to think about his plans or how best to approach his father. That task required his complete preoccupation and not while Gabriella was on his lap naively making him vibrantly aroused. So, abruptly, he changed the subject and the mood by telling her, "I should be teaching you how to kiss."

She knows him like this . . . evading what he didn't want discussed. Gabriella sighed. "Isn't that what you've been doing, Troy?"

He was comfortable with this kind of conversation. He didn't have to think twice about what to say or how to go about it. And Gabriella's innocence and his knowledge of it gave him much of a thrill than anything else. If he could spend the entire day kissing her and doing all sorts of intimate things to her, he won't hesitate for a second. "No, I've been kissing you and you are trying your best to kiss me back."

She flashed him an indignant look but the lovely blush tinting the slash of her cheekbones refused to abate. She was a little out of depth in this conversation and the way he was talking so matter-of-factly only emphasized her naïveté. "Well," She began trying for nonchalance and just about hit the mark. "I'm inexperienced as you know, but isn't that what kissing is? Mutual exchange of saliva?"

"Technically yes, but if I taught you how to really kiss, it's a shared act to be enjoyed. And, you should know, Miss Montez, it really hurts a guy's ego when a girl speaks so clinically about kissing. Makes him all the more eager to change the girl's opinion." Amused, he made a vague gesture with one hand while the other rested possessively on the curve of her hip. "Books tell little and imagination can only take you to a certain point."

"You mean you'll teach me to make it better for you? Why don't you just say you're disappointed, Troy? I feel gauche enough as it is." Her insecurity, irrationally, kicked in out of nowhere and she stiffened her spine as her defences automatically went up.

"Naive or gauche—which, by the way, is nothing to be insecure about—I'm not disappointed, Gabriella. Why else would I keep sneaking around your family to get you alone, hmm?" He stated plainly, holding her irritated and embarrassed gaze, daring her to challenge him with a better argument. She came up with none. The hand on her hip moved to the dip on her back just above her buttocks, and with his slumberous look dropping to her lips, he stroked the full lower lip with his thumb. "If I teach you how to kiss, the next time we kiss, it'll feel even better and so much more enjoyable for _both of us_."

She was far from hungry but his lazily spoken words sounded like butter melting over warm bun, like a delicious promise just waiting to be fulfilled, and Gabriella, despite her shyness, felt a thrill of excitement run through her nerve endings at the thought of what his kissing lesson would entail. With it, her insecurity flew out the window. Unconsciously, her tongue stuck out to wet her suddenly parched lips then she stammered, "H-how will y-you teach me?"

As questions go, it was a stupid one but that earned a wicked smile from Troy as his eyes followed the sweep of her tongue over the luscious lips. He was so pleased with himself and with her. From early on, he already sensed Gabriella's innate sensuality which he knows owes nothing to her love for romance books. But her early life experiences and her lifestyle had suppressed that passionate nature. The way she kisses and the way her body presses against him with a delightful mix of innocence, sensuousness, shyness and eagerness was proof of that. He wants to be the guy to help her unleash it as much as he wants to be the recipient of that passion. The end result, he knew, would be explosive.

And what better way to achieve all that was teach her. "With candy." He said, showing her the mint flavoured candy he drew from his pants pocket.

Liquid brown eyes blinked at the candy which he slowly began to unwrap, then she stared at him half bewildered, half knowing as to what purpose the candy will serve in her lesson.

Her lips parted to say or ask something but Troy chose that moment to slide the candy past her lips and told her to trap it between her teeth. He smiled, a devilish and slumberous kind of smile that made something tighten in the pit of her stomach, and she noticed his gaze seemed to be welded to her lips. He looked like he was carefully contemplating its shape, size and considering options for the best way to begin her lesson.

With the minty candy caught between her teeth, Gabriella swallowed, suddenly nervous and the dark flush that highlighted her cheekbones became even more pronounced as she waited what he'll do next. She was entirely at her mercy, probably looking like a shocked fish with a candy stuck between its lips—not a pretty sight, for sure—but she couldn't make herself move away. She didn't want to.

"Swirl the candy inside your mouth, Gabriella." He instructed in a huskily seductive voice that nevertheless sounded like he won't countenance any argument.

She obeyed, unable to think for herself, mesmerized by the burning intensity and sensual promise she could see in his azure gaze. She tasted the mint flavour as the hard candy moved around her mouth, savouring the refreshing burst, the saliva coating it, as though preparing for Troy's foray into the soft cavern, and waited what he'll ask her to do next.

"Lean closer to me."

She did.

"Arms around me."

Like an automaton now, she let her hands curve over his broad shoulders to slide slowly and settle at his nape.

The glitter in his eyes was the approval for following his softly spoken command. In turn, one hand cupped the back of her head and a strong arm banded around her waist anchoring her against him. "I'm going to press my lips on you, Gabriella, and I want you to open your mouth for me . . ."

"But the—"

"Ssshh." He pressed a forefinger against her lips, ceasing her initial protest and any other she might have thought of. "I will slide my tongue inside your mouth to get the candy from you. You will keep me from taking it . . . with your tongue. Fight for it, Gabriella. Imagine swordplay, a duel."

Eyes dilating, breathing becoming short and her heart drumming an excited beat, she asked herself if she could do it, if she dared to be that bold but Troy was looking at her, waiting for her assent and she found herself nodding very, very slowly . . . thinking absently that the word swordplay has never, ever sounded so stimulating.

He smiled, seemingly well pleased, the darkness in his eyes warming her insides as if he was already touching her. "Then you will do the same once the candy is inside my mouth." Pausing to give the words time to register, he watched as a tide of expressions flitted across her face in response to his words. He saw a degree of uncertainty still, prompting him to ask, "Are we heading in the same direction now?"

_What direction?_ She opened her mouth to speak then closed it again. She couldn't think straight.

"I want to taste your lips, Gabriella. Really, really taste them, not just kiss." He said by way of explanation and cupped her cheek, feeling skin as soft and as flawless as silk. "Will you let me? Will you want to taste my lips too?"

She swallowed, a slight sense of trepidation crept up on her, but she was too caught up in the sensual spell of his words to heed any instinctual warning. "Yes . . ."

Something inside Troy tightened at that encouraging response. He covered the small distance between their mouths and gently licked the soft, outer contours. The second her lips parted on an acquiescent sigh, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth and savoured the luscious pleasure that greeted him there; mint coupled with a taste uniquely hers.

As he expected, the initial response from her was of inhibition, but gently, teasingly, using expertise in kissing derived from several years of cavorting with equally aggressive girls, he coaxed her out of it. His aim was to kiss her into a state where she will allow him to do whatever he so desires—or at least up to a point that wouldn't shock her inexperienced self too much.

Gabriella's lids dropped on a sigh as she felt his hot tongue probe inside her mouth for the candy—going this way and that, gently stabbing motions, flicks here and there—spurring her to follow the movements of his tongue to parry for possession of the candy. She heard him grunt and correctly interpreted it as a sound of satisfaction to her response. He moved his tongue at a slow, leisurely pace as if he had all the time in the world to teach her . . . taste her. The effect was all the more devastating.

Pretty soon, she was French kissing him without conscious thought. She was reacting purely on impulse, on a wealth of feelings, forgetting the purpose of the candy. She was barely aware that Troy's grip on her tightened and that their bodies were practically plastered together from lips to hips. An overriding wave of pleasure enveloped her senses, drowning out all and any awareness of her surroundings or inhibitions she might have.

It was when she pulled back a little to gasp for necessary air that Troy took the candy from her into his mouth. Gabriella had a strong feeling that he could've easily taken it from her early on but probably for the sake of her supposed education on proper kissing, he let her duel longer with him. The effect on her senses was more than welcome. Definitely an education not to be missed, she surmised, or at least one she was glad not to have missed out on.

They stared at each other for long minutes, their chests were heaving as they took deep panting breaths; its sound unnaturally loud in the quiet apartment. The air around them felt thick you could slice it with a knife and Troy's entire frame felt like a tightly coiled spring waiting to be let go.

But their oral swordplay was far from over. Not when Gabriella was proving to be a delightfully responsive student, as he knew she would be with proper encouragement. What he didn't anticipate was how violent his reaction would be by acting as her teacher. So tamping down his raging libido, he ordered in a ragged voice, "You turn."

Gabriella's senses flared anew and before she could think better of it she was closing the space between their lips and pressing it on his. Guided by the small knowledge he'd just imparted and the swelling desire that he awakened inside her, she teased him the same way he did her and Troy couldn't help but wonder how this tame kissing has such an overwhelming effect on his self control when the more experienced girls he'd been intimate with before had to do the whole sexual shebang to make him lose it and not even completely.

He finally opened his mouth for her entry, flicked his tongue once for a brief lick to her lower lip before her sexy little tongue followed his back into his mouth, making him loose a little more of his restraint. He sucked on her delicious tongue and she moaned. The sound was like tantalizing music to his ears and it was the encouragement he needed to repeat sucking her tongue.

The candy was gone. Melted, disintegrated inside his mouth. But somewhere between their kissing something intangible shifted that Troy was certain they were no longer kissing for the candy. No longer was this a lesson. Teacher and student ceased to exist. They were boyfriend and girlfriend indulging, celebrating their physical chemistry and mutual attraction with a shared kiss. A hot, passionate and overwhelming kiss.

Gabriella's whole body felt haywire, restive and wanton hot with craving. It was extraordinarily crazy and a state of being so alien to her yet she was responding to him, unable to tear herself away and the strength of her response terrified her.

"Don't be scared, Gabriella." He rasped, brushing his fingertips along the delicate curve of her jawbone, as if he sensed her fear and wanted to ease it . . . to assure her she wasn't the only one. "I feel no different." And just to prove he was telling the truth, his hips thrust up once so that Gabriella felt the hard and straining evidence of his desire for her. Upon contact of his bulging zip to the clothed junction between her thighs, Troy groaned in time with the low moan that dredged from her throat.

She gave in, setting what remained of her reservations aside, letting him take over the kiss.

It demanded a leap of faith on her part and the willingness to believe that as time stretches on and reality intrudes, he would never treat her with the same callous lack of feeling his father had treated his mother or the unfeeling way her own mother had treated her as a child.


End file.
